


Even This Darkness Must Pass

by GuilelessAesthete



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Feelings, Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Movie Spoilers, Slow Burn, Some angst, but not too much, prior relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-17 02:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16507463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuilelessAesthete/pseuds/GuilelessAesthete
Summary: A woman of Gondor has been banished, and she takes refuge in Rohan, serving the royal family. How long can she keep her past deeds a secret? Slightly AU, but goes with the movie plot. EomerxOC. Tags will be added as the story progresses.Previously posted on Fanfiction.net under the same username.





	1. Chapter 1

She stood in the middle of the room, looking at her feet. She had been summoned, but the Steward was late. She had arrived precisely when she had been told but had been greeted by an empty room. The white marble of the throne room of Minas Tirith glittered around her, but she still stared at her feet. She could feel her pulse in her ears, throbbing in time with her frantic heart. She tried to keep her breathing even, trying to uphold a façade of calm, even if she could feel the burning in the back of her eyes. Her black hair tumbled down her back in its sometimes-untamable curls. She was slight, but not without strength. She had been raised in the walls of the Citadel, and had spent her lifetime at chores that strengthened her.

After what seemed like all of the ages of Man had passed, a door leading off of the main room flew open with a loud crash. The woman started violently and then looked up from her feet to watch as the Steward of Gondor strode across the room to his lowly seat. She did not greet him, but did return her gaze to her feet in respectful submission. As he crossed the room, she could hear the string of angry curses muttered beneath his breath as they bounced off of the marble walls. He sat down with a huff, and she could feel the heat of his gaze on the top of her head. 

"Braedia, daughter of Dwavia and Deonvan, you have been called forth to this trial with charges of disobedience and defiance of your superiors, as well as treason and sedition. How do you respond?" Denethor said with an exasperated sigh.

As he listed the charges, Braedia’s gaze snapped to his face. He looked expectantly at her, brow knit and lips pursed in a deep frown. She blinked several times, but otherwise did not show the shock that was permeating her body. She heard the side door open again, but did not dare look to see who had entered.

"I am unsure that I understand what exactly brought about these charges, my lord," she said, her voice soft. Better to play the fool he thought her to be.

"You know exactly what you did, wench. Do not think that I am unaware of what you have been doing as of late," Denethor cut across quickly, his tone venomous.

Braedia looked back at her feet, unwilling and unable to fight with the ruling authority of the city. They had been caught; there was nothing she could have said that would have changed what he had witnessed with his own eyes.

"Because you offer no word in your own defense, this shall be an admission of your guilt," Denethor said after a moment of her silence.

He had taken to pompous blustering, trying to infuse false grandeur and authority into his words. Again, Braedia said nothing. It was better to be silent than give in to the rage and heartbreak she felt pulsing through her veins. That would only make her current situation worse.

"You are hereby banished from the kingdom of Gondor. You have until sundown to gather your things and leave. Be gone from my sight and never darken my halls again," Denethor nearly bellowed.

Braedia looked up suddenly, and her jaw dropped. Banishment? How was it possible? She felt a tear threatening to overflow its bounds, and she opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to form a proper rebuttal. His glare intensified, and she knew better than to linger once that dark look came over his face. She turned on her heel and walked as fast as she could, struggling to hold herself together. 

Braedia held onto her tears long enough to reach her living quarters. She let them silently slide down her face as she packed, for this was not the time to grieve. She found a rucksack quick enough and packed away as many of her few possessions as she could. She changed out of her dress and into breeches and a tunic. She strapped her father's sword to her hip, the sheer weight of it strange to her, and a quiver and bow to her back, another heirloom from her father. She grabbed her sack and went to the servant's kitchen, packing a few things like a flint stone for fire, some salts, and spices. She knew better than to grab any food because it would draw animals in the Wilds faster than she could eat it.

As she checked that her bedroll was secure and mentally made sure that she had packed everything, a sound behind her startled her. She swiftly turned and saw that the Steward's son, Faramir stood in the kitchen doorframe, staring with wide, watery eyes.

"So it is true. You are banished," he stated, his voice cracking slightly.

"It is true, my friend. Your father has given me until sundown to leave the city, and it is a long walk down to the lower levels," Braedia replied, trying to keep her sorrow out of her voice.

"Boromir is fighting with Father now. Just wait; maybe there is something that can be done," Faramir said, almost pleading now. 

Braedia smiled sadly, but shook her head. "You and I both know that, as long as I remain in the City, your father will never be at peace. He found us out, Faramir," she said softly, trying to comfort the young Captain.

"But this is not just," Faramir said, tears slipping from his eyes.

"It was never promised to be. I am truly sorry for the pain I’ve caused. You know how much you mean to me…and your brother. Tell him…you know what I want to say, don't you?" Braedia said, walking to Faramir. She gently placed a hand on his cheek, wiping away the errant tear.

The Captain nodded and pulled the young woman into a tight embrace. She was startled for a moment, but then returned it just as fiercely. They stood there for a moment, and Braedia couldn't help the few tears that escaped her eyes. They pulled apart, each wiping the traces of sadness from their visages.

"At least let me escort you to the Gate. I could not let you walk alone in good conscience, regardless of the circumstances," Faramir said hurriedly.

Again, Braedia shook her head. "You need to be with your brother," she said with a sad half-smile.

She touched Faramir on the shoulder one more time, and bid him farewell. Before he could stop her, she left the Citadel, and began the long trek down to the main gate.  
When she reached the Gate, they only slid the doors open and let her leave the White City. She looked to the soldiers, some faces belonging to those she once counted as friends. Now they stared blankly, only watching her go impassively. As soon as she was clear of the gate, it began to grind closed behind her, finishing with a deep thud. The bar was returned, and Braedia could not so much as look behind her as she walked into the field beyond. After a few hours walk over the plains of Pelennor, Braedia turned back and watched the sun set over Minas Tirith for her last time. But as the light grew fainter, she turned her back on the City of the Kings and headed to face her fate in the Wilds.

As darkness grew in the lands of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, the Wilds became a place of hostility and death. No one ventured out alone, let alone attempted to live there without proper dwellings. But that was how Braedia made her way. She lived along the edges of civilization, only coming into contact with Men when she was in dire need of supplies or shelter during the winter. For several years, Braedia was able to live in a cave in the mountains, and she thrived. She had been taught the skills of the blade and of the bow as she grew, along with her lessons in courtesy and pleasantry.

While the first few months were difficult, Braedia became accustomed to the lack of warm food or soft beds quickly. She tried not to stay in one place for too long, especially when she knew that she still lay in the realm of Gondor. It took some time for her to understand animal habits, but necessity was the greatest teacher of all. She found it easy to remain unseen when she needed to, for not many men wandered around the Wilds. After less than one sun cycle, she found that her longings for luxuries like soap for her hair or wines diminished and the simple joys of a clear night and a warm fire were enough.

Eventually, she wound her way through the mountains and found herself living on the edges of the plains of Rohan. She knew the Horse-Lords for relatively kind people, but she still kept to herself, having grown unfriendly with all people. She found herself a simple cave to live in, and found that she was able to settle for a time. She spent several moon-cycles in the cave, and was perfectly content to make it her new home.

________________________________________

I slept near the back of my cave; my fire had died to barely embers long before. But then, I was awoken by a cry that was growing all too frequent these days: Orcs. I sprung to my feet, slipped my soft boots on and gathered my things quickly. If they were that loud, then they were bound to be close. I moved out of my cave and into the trees, keeping low to the ground. I almost heard the arrow before I saw it land with a solid ‘thunk’ in the tree next to my head. Stealth no longer possible, I stood up from the low vegetation and began to sprint through the trees.

I wove in and out of the trunks, on and off the faint deer path, hoping to throw them off my trail. I ran as fast as I could, not taking the time to stop and look back. I could hear the Orcs behind me laughing and snarling, shouts that the Man-flesh was giving good sport reaching my ears. I was starting to lose stamina, so I began looking for trees to climb. Although the Orcs were strong, they were not nimble enough to come after me if I climbed high enough.

I found a good tree, and I scrambled to the top of it. I panted, looking down and waiting for the Orcs to pass me by. I was not that fortunate. A small party, no more than ten, gathered around the base of the tree. They were looking into the branches, trying to spot me. I sighed; I could take on three or four Orcs single-handedly, but ten was too many. But I didn't dare loose an arrow into any of them, for fear that I would give away my position in the foliage.

I heard them arguing about whether to burn the tree or cut it down. My eyes widened in panic. I looked around to see if there were any trees I could jump to, but there were no branches close enough. I sighed and pulled out my bow, knowing I had to be quick. Once they knew where I was, it was a matter of time before they started firing on me. The Orcs eventually agreed to chop down the tree, and several drew their axes and approached the base. I loosed an arrow into one of the axe men, and he fell with a screech. I quickly released another before the Orcs even pulled out their crossbows. I felled another and then moved to a different branch, quickly shooting another. Bolts from the crossbows rained up into the tree, some barely missing me.

I went to fire another arrow, but then suddenly, a spear impaled one of the archers, driving the creature into the tree. A small group of horsemen, three total, then came from the trees and quickly dispatched the others. They walked around the base of my tree, but I froze, not willing to come down.

"Do you think it's one of their own that they have pinned in the tree?" one of the men said in a deep voice.

He couldn't see me, which I could use to my advantage to study them a moment longer. They wore the garb of the Rohirrim, and rode large, healthy steeds. All carried at least a sword, but a few had either a bow, spear, or shield or a combination of those to accompany his primary weapon. I could not see their faces, due to both the darkness of the night and the position from which I looked at them.

"No, that is no Orc. These are not their arrows. Come down, by order of the éroed of Théoden King," a second said, first to his companions and then up into the branches.  
I considered not coming down, considered that I could take the three men and their beast from my position. I was a good shot, and I had plenty enough arrows. But then I saw the third reaching for his bow, and I knew that I would be dead before I had a chance to slay but one of the company.

"Withdraw your guard, and let me down," I called, willing my voice not to shake.

Two of the men looked to the third, the first to speak, as if he were the leader. The leader looked up into the tree, as if trying to find me. Obviously failing, he sighed and nodded to his men. They withdrew a few yards from the tree, forming a line. I pulled my hood over my hair, taking care to hide my obvious Gondorian features, even if I could not hide my obvious womanly ones. I tucked my bow into its place, and began to descend the tree. I landed lightly on the ground, keeping my head bowed. I turned from the Men and gathered my arrows from the enemies I had slain.

"Stop, in the name of the king," the leader commanded.

I had finished my task and slid the arrows back into my quiver. The Men all reflexively reached for their weapons, but I held up my hands in a sign of peace.

"I only wished to gather my arrows. They are precious to me," I said, keeping my voice low.

"Do not try to exchange pleasantries with me, stranger. Who are you and what are you doing out in these lands?" the leader demanded, his voice strong but with an undercurrent of confusion.

I was able to get a slightly better look at them now that I was on the ground, but the darkness still prevented me from really seeing their features clearly. They were all looking between me and themselves, as if trying to decide to treat me as a threat, or with courtesy.

"My name is my own, as is my business. I wish to be no disturbance to you or yours, and will gladly return to my home and never bother you again,” I said smoothly.

"But as it stands, it is against the law for strangers to roam the Wilds of Rohan without consent from the King," the second said boldly.

"Is it now? Pity," I muttered, my face dancing with the ghost of a smile. The living thing had long since left me.

 _"Should we take her to the king? She is trespassing,"_ the third said lowly to the leader, speaking Rohirric.

Little did he know that I was versed in the language.

 _"We will see what the Third Marshal wishes,"_ the leader replied in the same tongue.

The three turned back to me. "You are to come with us to our camp. Our leader will decide your fate," he said to me.

He started to walk his horse toward me, but I jumped back nimbly. The horseman pulled back, and I could see the wrinkle of confusion in his brow.

"I prefer to walk, thank you," I said holding up my hands in a motion for him to stop.

I began to walk toward the path the riders had arrived on, and after a moment of shared looks, they surrounded me on three sides as we slowly made our way to their encampment.


	2. Chapter 2

I walked surrounded by the three riders, and I could feel the annoyance rolling off of them in waves. I knew that it was their wish to just throw me bodily over a saddle and gallop away, but they did not want to be accused of disrespecting a lady, even a grimy, vexing one. They were patient enough to allow me to walk, so I didn't press my luck with conversation, even if I could have thought of something to say. All the hot horse-flesh around me drew a thin sheen of sweat onto my skin and drew all the moisture from my mouth. The great beasts were beautiful to watch from afar, but every nervous prance made me flinch. The horses kept a wary eye on me, much like their keepers.

We made our slow way down the slope of the hill, and out into the open plain where a gathering of tents sat on the edge of the trees. There were only a few dozen tents, housing maybe fifty or so men. My three guards led me to the edge of the encampment, walking their horses to a makeshift paddock. They dismounted swiftly, and I made sure to hide my face. They then turned and began to walk into the camp proper. The sky was beginning to lighten, still a few hours from dawn, but some of the men were stirring. A few of the soldiers rubbed their eyes as I was escorted, trying to make sure that dreams had not followed into waking.

I could feel a girlish blush creeping into my cheeks as we walked. I foolishly wondered about my ragged appearance but chided myself quickly after. I was facing another trial with another noble, and I was wondering about the last time I tried to untangle my hair. I shook my head, amused and irritated in equal measure.

The three led me to the largest tent in the middle of the camp, glowing dimly from within. I could not see any silhouettes against the fabric of the tent. The riders did not pause to wait for permission and led me directly into the tent. There were a few candles lit on a central table, and I squinted slightly against the brightness. It had been many years since I had experienced this much light during the black of night, and it almost hurt my eyes. A man, who had been previously been bent over a table stood up straight upon our entrance. He was tall, much taller than any man I had ever encountered in Gondor. He had hair the color of the sun and it shone healthily over his shoulders. He had flashing hazel eyes that looked at us with a mixture of anger and excitement.

"You return so soon. I take that to mean that the Orcs have been dealt with?" the man asked, his voice deep like the rolling of thunder.

"Yes, my lord Èomer. But we found this stranger in the wood. She had been run up a tree by the Orcs. The group has been destroyed, but we know that it is a violation of your uncle's law for strangers to wander without permission," the leader of the scouting party said hastily, stumbling over his words in the presence of this large man, Èomer.

The three stepped aside so I was fully revealed to their true leader. Èomer looked at me critically for a moment, an eyebrow raised. My gender was not lost on him as his eyes slid up and down my form, stopping to consider my sword for a moment before moving back to my shadowed face.

"Break your fast and take some rest while you can. I will handle this," Èomer said after a moment or two of this silence.

The three bowed shortly and quickly exited the tent, leaving Èomer and I alone, save a guard outside of the tent.

"To begin with, lower your hood," Èomer said sternly.

"My lord, I ask your leave to treat with you before revealing my countenance,” I said, keeping my gaze lowered, head tilted to hide my face.

"I will not treat with strangers of whom I cannot look in the eye. If you are no coward, then lower your hood," Èomer said, his anger flashing in the depths of his eyes.

“With all due respect, I do not wish your judgment to come hastily. I have not had fair dealings with those of your station, and I can only ask you hear me prior to laying down a verdict,” I answered, trying to keep a level tone, keeping my hands where they could be seen, and away from my weapons.

"You speak with Èomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, nephew to Théoden King. I shall say what can and can't be done, and as a subject under the king’s authority, you will lower your hood," Èomer retorted, drawing himself up to his full height and expanding his chest. His hand came to rest on the hilt of the sword on his hip.

I couldn't help but smirk at the strange resemblance to a turkey splaying his feathers for the females of the species.

I chuckled slightly but sighed all the same. There was no way for me to remain hidden and get out of this alive.

"I am no coward, nor am a subject of your king, my lord," I said as I lowered my hood.

My voice was soft and demure, and I kept my eyes lowered in the presence of a noble. Èomer clearly started and his eyes went wide as he regarded me. I realized that I was no longer a polished lady of the court--years in the Wilds had erased that image away--but I was no stranger to what I looked like. I knew that my black hair had become a tangle behind my head, despite my regular attempts to tame it. My face must have been dirty because it always was. With no hot water to wash away the grime, a semi-permanent layer had formed over most of my skin. But I knew that my eyes still shone clear. They were grey, as was common in Gondor, but they contained the slightest hint at green. It was the last remnant of Rohirric blood left in me.

"My lady, please forgive my coarseness with you," Èomer said, bowing slightly. Maybe he had not been so attuned to my gender as I had believed.

"Please, my lord, I neither want nor deserve any title. I am no noble," I said, brushing his attempt at courtesy away.

"Indeed. Your appearance tells me you hail from Gondor," Èomer said, the statement a slightly suspicious question.

I gave a tilt of the head to confirm his suspicions. "I was born in The White City to parents that are inconsequential to one of standing. My family served the Steward's household," I said softly.

"If you served the Steward, why are you in the Wilds, and look something feral?" Èomer questioned, now confused.

"I disobeyed the Steward, and for that, I was banished," I said tensely, picking my words with great care. It was not the whole truth, but it certainly was not a lie.

"So you fled to the Wilds?" Èomer said, his statement more of a question again.

"Yes, my lord. For how long, I cannot quite recall. One loses a sense of exact time when living in the trees," I said, sobering up a little.

Èomer nodded, and we fell into a moment of silence. I kept my gaze cast in his direction, though he was not looking directly at me either. His brow was furrowed, deep in thought.

"What exactly was it that you did in the Steward's household?" he asked after a moment.

"My mother was the nurse for his sons when they were young, and then became their maid when they grew old enough to care for themselves. I was raised to be a maid as well, my lord. I often attended to the needs of visiting dignitaries and their wives, as well," I answered quickly.

Èomer nodded thoughtfully and turned away from me. I studied his movements, admiring his easy gait despite the heavy armor he wore.

"My scouts were correct when they said that it is unlawful for strangers to roam the land without permission of the king. My company rides to Edoras once dawn has broken. You will be presented before the king, and perhaps you may yet be of service. My sister, the king's niece, is looking for a lady-in-waiting," Èomer said, turning back to me.

My eyes widened, but I controlled my shock easily enough and fell back into my serene calm. Lady-in-waiting was a position of great honor in Gondor. A daughter of a lesser house could become a lady-in-waiting to the wife or daughter of a prominent lord or prince. It could lead to introductions and alliances, marriage pacts for daughters who otherwise would have been doomed to a life of lower status in the court. A chambermaid was the best a common girl could hope to be, maybe one day a nursemaid to noble children if enough trust and love developed between mistress and chambermaid. But Èomer had mentioned riding to Edoras. The sweat returned to my palms at the thought.

"How far to Edoras, my lord?" I questioned curiously.

"A day and a half gallop. The horses will be well rested by dawn and should be able to make the journey. Do you have a horse of your own?" Èomer asked.

I shook my head slightly. "No, my lord. The servants of the Steward had no need for steeds of their own," I said, quickly. It was a truthful statement, but not the full truth behind my not owning a horse.

"Then you will have to be borne by one of my company. I will find you an escort before we leave," Èomer said.

"My lord, is there need for haste or escort? I would be happy enough to walk the distance to the capital," I stuttered, trying to sound as if I didn't want to burden his company.

"I will not hear of this. It would be a journey of at least seven days, and it would be shameful for me not to escort you. I can understand if you feel you can protect yourself; your sword and bow confirm it as does your mere presence before me. You will ride with us," Èomer said, his voice full of finality.

I sighed, but I knew that I had been beaten and resigned to it. He called in a man, who began to escort me from the tent. Èomer turned back to his map, picking up seamlessly from where he left off. I almost exited the tent, but I turned back to him.

"Braedia, my lord," I said, a little louder than I had spoken previously.

He looked up at me, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"My name is Braedia. I would rather you call me by my name then continue on with the pretense I don't deserve," I said with a very small smile.

He nodded and then I left with my guard. He walked me through the tents until he came to one on the edge, near the place where the horses resided.

"This tent belonged to one of the fallen. We are to depart in a few hours, but you may wait here until then,” the guard said, eyeing me with mistrust.

"Thank you, my lord. I shall have it packed away before we are to depart," I said, inclining my head slightly as a sign of respect.

He nodded and walked away quickly. I sighed and shook my head, faintly amused. I went into the tent, and found that someone had set up a cot, and fetched me a pitcher of water. I smiled at the faint kindness. It seemed that these men were bereft of womanly presences for quite some time.

I took off my pack and quiver, setting them gingerly on the cot as I sat down on its edge. I swept my hair over my shoulder and began to run my fingers through the curls. I let my mind wander as I worked at the mess, trying to find a way to make the tangle presentable to a king. I attempted to wash my face of some of the grime with the pitcher of water but knew that only a hot bath would succeed in getting through the layers time had built. I had to be slightly presentable, or the king may suspect me of being a wild woman of one of the hill tribes. I did try to get a little more sleep, but fear of oversleeping and the instinct to try to slip away while no one was looking wrestled in my gut until my stomach was tied in knots. Resigning to getting no more rest, I donned my weapons again and exited the tent.

I saw that the edges of the sky were just beginning to lighten with the anticipation of the sunrise. The camp around me had awakened further, but all the men ignored me as I worked on packing away my tent. I was unfamiliar with the design, but I did not count on anyone to assist me. 

Once the tent was in its pack, I looked around the camp. I spotted a large boulder that faced east, and I sat on it crossed legged as the sun rose over the horizon. I closed my eyes and breathed in the smell of the plains grass that the breeze brought to my nose. This was nothing like Minas Tirith. And yet, I could still see its shining White Tower and its beautiful prow that extended triumphantly from the mountainside in my mind's eye as if I were standing less than a league from her stone walls. I could imagine that the sounds of the camp were the lower levels coming to life as the morning began, merchants opening their stores and stalls to sell their wares, guards changing shifts, the housekeeper coming to wake the maids for morning chores. I sighed in contentment, as I remembered what the White City also held for me.

"It is a beautiful sunrise," I heard a familiar voice say from beside me.

I opened my eyes calmly and looked up. Èomer was standing beside my rock, looking east as well. I looked back to the place where the sun was rising. I had been shaken from my memories violently. I sighed again.

"Indeed, it is, my lord," I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

I could hear the men scurrying around the camp behind us, packing away their things.

"We will be leaving shortly. I have found a horseman willing to bear you." Èomer said, his voice a little tense.

"Is he a good horseman?" I asked before my restraint could keep a hold on me.

I could hear the hesitance in my own voice, and Èomer chuckled.

"One of the best, some say," he said, still laughing lightly.

"He is going to have to be, to account for my true lack of skill on horseback," I grumbled a little moodily.

Èomer laughed again. "Have you ever been on a horse?" he asked, still laughing.

"When I was younger, I used to ride in front of my father, but that was long ago," I said my tone and face darkening with the memories.

If Èomer noticed the change, he said nothing.

"We must be off soon. Come back to camp," he said after another moment.

I stood gracefully and followed him back to where the men were starting to mount their horses.


	3. Chapter 3

Èomer led me to one of the few rider-less horses, a grey steed that had already been saddled. Èomer mounted the horse, and then extended his hand down to me. I looked up at him with wide eyes and my mouth slightly agape. I shook my head trying to remember my courtesy. The horse seemed to sense his master’s eagerness to ride and pranced a little under him.

I swallowed hard. "You are my rider?" I croaked, almost not believing it.

"If you are as bad as you seem to make yourself out to be, then you need one with great experience in the saddle. It only makes sense," Èomer said, a smirk dancing on his features.

"Will your horse be able to bear me?" I asked, looking at the war-horse again. The horse tossed his head a little.

"Firefoot has borne men twice your weight, as well as myself. Now come, the day drags on," he said, his voice both amused and impatient.

I hesitantly extended my small hand into his larger one, and he pulled me into the saddle in front of him with very little effort. I barely managed to get my leg over, so I could sit astride him. I was practically sitting on the horse’s neck and could feel every glance and breath. Èomer wrapped a strong arm around my waist and took the reins with his other hand, moving the horse expertly.

"See there? He barely notices your weight," Èomer teased gently into my ear.

I felt a flush creep into my cheeks, but whatever retort I had been forming died as Èomer swung Firefoot around and nudged his side. I yelped in surprise and clung the Èomer’s arm. He rode at the head of the column, his men falling into rank behind him. The men and horses moved quickly, and lively shouts were heard among the ranks; the men were ready to be home. I kept my eyes closed for the first few minutes of the ride, tensing every muscle I had to remain on the horse's back. Firefoot’s head rose and fell and I swore I was about to slide right over his nose at any moment.

"Do not panic. Hold onto my arm," Èomer said into my ear, his arm tightening around my waist.

I nodded and let out another involuntary yelp as I felt him lifting me from my seat, over the horn, and into the saddle. He himself had moved back to ride on the leather of the back of the saddle, still holding the reins and me. And, all the while, we had never slowed our pace. I turned to look at him, and I saw that there was an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"I am glad that you find amusement in my terror, my lord," I said, my tone a little more biting than I had intended.

"It is amusing. Having grown up around women who find the seat of the saddle as natural as the seat of a chair, you are quite interesting to me," Èomer said with a little laugh.

I half glared at him, but then flinched as Èomer moved his way around a rock outcropping. Èomer threw his head back and laughed heartily at my attempts at venom.

"You are more frightened of them then they are of you. Firefoot is as brave a war-horse as any warrior could ask for, but he is as gentle and steady off the battlefield," Èomer said, his voice swelling with pride over his horse.

"I would rather walk," I snapped, shaking my head.

"If you are going to remain in Rohan, then you must grow accustomed to them, at the very least. This is the Home of the Horselords, after all," Èomer said, still chuckling at me.

"You presume too much, my lord. I made no mention of intending to stay in Rohan,” I said coolly, trying to infuse some of the finality he had used the previous night into my voice.

"You have been offered a place at Meduseld, the Golden Hall of Edoras. Surely you do not think that your proper place is in the Wilds," Èomer said with a bemused chuckle.

"You have offered me a place, but if it is not too bold to say, I have learned not to accept promises from lords blindly," I said, my voice and mind growing distant.

“It is not too bold, but one has to wonder why,” Èomer mused, almost to himself. 

I chose not to answer, clenching my grip on Èomer’s arm again as we picked up speed on a downhill.

"A lady of the court of the Steward cannot enjoy scraping a living off rocks," Èomer said with a scoff.

"Again, my lord, you presume too much. I was never part of the Steward’s court. And I never said I enjoyed scraping a living off rocks, as you so eloquently put it," I said, getting frustrated.

"You said that you served the sons of the Steward, as well as visiting nobility. Is that not a position in court?" Èomer asked, growing more serious.

“Not in Gondor, my lord. I was just a servant, no more, no less,” I sighed.

“But I imagine you were never _just_ a servant. You do not carry yourself like a servant. Your hands are rough but show no cooking scars. You speak well. You know your courtesies. You have wit enough to spare.” Èomer laughed at his own joke.

I rolled my eyes as I faced away from him. “No, I suppose by your standards, I would not be _just_ a servant, then. But the position you offer would be better filled by a daughter or sister of one of your noblemen. Your lady sister would be offended to have a commoner attend her, especially one as…unrefined as myself.”

Èomer laughed again, as if I had made the most amusing joke. “Once you meet Èowyn, you may have a different view of the matter. She wants no simpering, powdered maid to attend her. And once she sees your sword, you will be unable to rid yourself of her even if you wished it. Providing you can wield such a weapon with any effectiveness.”

My chest swelled with indignation. "I have no trouble wielding my father’s sword, my lord Èomer,” I snapped.

"That sword looks to weigh nearly as much as you. You may be able to wield it, but surely not effectively," Èomer scoffed again.

They took a slight turn to the west, and I gripped Èomer's arm tightly as he completed the move. He laughed again.

"Timid as I may be around horses, I survived well enough on my own before your men found me. Had it not been for the Orcs, you might not have been alerted to my position. And I look forward to the day that I might, my lord Èomer, teach you how effectively I wield my sword," I said, an angry bite to my words.

I expected Èomer to balk at my blatant disrespect, but instead, he threw his head back and laughed heartily again. "I, too, look forward to that day, Braedia. I look forward to it most eagerly," he said amused and still laughing slightly.

I chose not to answer him but looked out over the horse's head. The plains were rolling hills of long grasses, occasionally broken up with a large boulder, or a stone outcropping. Despite the soreness I was now feeling in my legs, I almost felt peaceful on horseback. There was a steady rhythm to Firefoot’s movements that soothed my mind, like a mother’s heartbeat. I could almost understand why the Rohirrim loved being on horseback so much. Almost.

The journey lasted for the rest of the day, and into the night. Èomer told me that they were only stopping for a moment or two along the banks of the river to give the horses a chance to breathe and drink, but then they were going to continue through the night. When we stopped, my legs felt like straw beneath me, and my knees buckled. Èomer kept himself from outright laughing at me as he helped me up, but there was an amused twinkle behind his eyes that he couldn’t hide.

All too soon, I was back in the saddle with Èomer, riding toward the capital. As dusk fell, he encouraged me to try to sleep, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to. Excluding the fear of falling off the horse, my mind was far too busy to find any rest. I did indulge Èomer at one point in the night, resting my head back against his chest and letting my face fall smooth with feigned peace. I wasn't sure, but I could have sworn that he muttered something in Rohirric, but it was far too low for me to understand or translate.

Despite my feelings that I wouldn't be able to sleep in the saddle, I found myself being shaken awake after sunrise several hours later. The plains looked the same, but the mountains that I had seen in the distance were closer now, and I could almost make out a lone hill on the horizon.

"I'm glad to see you awake, Braedia. You sleep like the dead," Èomer teased gently when he noticed I was awake.

I half glared at him again, but he just laughed. This man was entirely too frustrating, and I had to wonder who had been raised with courtly courtesy their whole life, and who had spent several years living in caves.

"You can almost make out Edoras on the horizon now. We should be there in less than two hours," Èomer said, excitement tinting his voice. I tensed as his arm left my waist to point at the black smudge low on the horizon. I surprised even myself as I gripped his arm tightly when it returned.

"How long has it been since you were there?" I asked curiously.

"A fortnight, but my heart still soars when I see it, regardless of how long my absence," Èomer said, his voice swelling with happiness.

He smiled, and I couldn't help but give him my ghost of a smile. We rode in silence for a time, and slowly but surely, the hill rose out of the ground and toward us. It was nothing to the size of Minas Tirith, but the golden thatched roof of the Great Hall was enough to make me feel a sense of awe. The bottom of the hill was surrounded by a high wall made of wood, and houses clung to the sides of the hill like moss. As we rode up the main thoroughfare, I could see details lost to distance. Every home was carved with relief works in the images of horses. There were no stone roads, but I could see shops and stands, children playing games outside of groups of homes as windows were opened wide to allow parents to listen. People stopped as the riders passed, and a few cheered as we passed, welcoming the riders home. 

Dirt gave way to a large stone square which was at the base of the stairs leading to the Golden Hall. The men stopped and some immediately leapt off their mounts and began to walk down a large avenue. I followed the path with my eyes and saw the stables. It was only second largest to Meduseld itself, with more low buildings surrounding it. But my eyes were drawn back to the royal hall as Èomer drew to a halt. I took a deep breath and tried to untangle the knots in my stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

Once we had come to a stop, Èomer helped me to dismount. I felt my muscles groan, and I could almost feel the bruising forming on my inner thighs. As Èomer released me to stand, my legs gave out slightly from under me, and without thinking, I reached for the nearest thing to me for strength. I didn’t realize until it was too late that I had reached for Firefoot's flank. The horse was startled by the movement, moving away and causing me to stumble again. Èomer managed to grab my elbow before I fell all the way to the ground, and kept his hold on Firefoot’s reins. He soothed the horse with muttered Rohirric words, and a groom came to claim the horse. As I attempted to stretch my sore legs with as much grace as I could manage, I couldn’t miss Èomer’s bemused smirk out of the corner of my eye.

After giving me a moment, Èomer led me up the wide stairs to Meduseld, the Golden Hall of Edoras. The building, which hadn't looked spectacular from a distance, grew to be more ornate as I drew closer. It sat atop a flat stone base, and I could see that there was a ledge that extended past the outer walls of the hall, and guards were stationed at intervals along it. The pillars that held up the roof were thick and intricately carved. I could make out the image of a horse in gallop in many of the carvings. It appeared that they may have been painted gold, but time had worn away most of the glimmer, leaving dark wood exposed. 

The guards outside of the doors moved to stop me before I could enter the hall. Èomer turned to me with a serious wrinkle to his brow.

“Armed strangers are not allowed before the king,” Èomer stated, his shoulders settling a little straighter.

I smirked in my mind; I was waiting for the noble in him to show itself. I nodded and unbuckled my quiver and sword belt. A guard reached for them, but Èomer held up his hand.

_“I will handle these, Cenulf,”_ Èomer said lowly in Rohirric.

The guard, Cenulf, stopped and nodded once to Èomer. Èomer reached out and took my weapons, his large hand holding the bundle with ease. The guards moved to open the doors for us, and I let Èomer move ahead of me before following behind.

The floor was a beautiful dark stone, and the walls were covered in tapestries, depicting the myths and legends of the Rohirrim. In the center of the room, there was a large fireplace with an empty spit over it, which was probably used for feasts. Everything in the room was warm and felt inviting, unlike the marble walls of the throne room of the White Tower.

I looked to the far end of the room, and a man sat in an ornately carved wooden throne. He wore no mantle nor crown, but I knew he was the king. His air exuded authority, and he seemed at ease on his perch. He was so unlike Denethor in many ways. While Denethor wore the chainmail dress of a warrior, he had never seen the horrors of battle. This man, Théoden, had clearly seen and conquered many foes in the glorious field. Denethor sat on his throne, giving pompous orders, where Théoden descended from his throne and strode across the room, jovially greeting his nephew.

"Èomer, my lad, I am glad to see you. Théodred arrived only yesterday. It will be splendid to have all of my family seated for supper tonight," he said, not taking notice of me.

Théoden looked aged, but he had done so gracefully. There was a touch of grey to his golden hair and beard, but his slightly wrinkled face still shone with life. Èomer accepted the king's embrace but looked back to me. Théoden noticed me then, and I quickly swept into a graceful curtsey.

"Who is this, Èomer?" Théoden asked pleasantly.

"My _éored_ found her in the Wilds. Orcs attacked her in the middle of the night. She does not have your leave to roam," Èomer said, sounding a little disappointed.

"I see. No, she does not," Théoden said, suddenly serious.

The king’s eyes looked me up and down once, his mouth in a frown. If I hadn't just seen his friendly greeting, then I would have feared for my safety. I swallowed and cast my gaze down.

"Come, we will discuss this," Théoden said, motioning to the end of the hall.

He led Èomer and myself to the throne, where he sat. I kept my head bowed and my body relaxed as Théoden sat in his throne. The chair was a light wood, the high back carved as intricately as the surrounding hall. 

"So how is it that you have come to Rohan, child?" Théoden asked, getting right to the business at hand.

"Théoden King, I first ask pardon for my infringement. As to how I came to Rohan, it is a long story. These facts remain: I once resided in the White City of Gondor, Minas Tirith. I was a maid in the Steward's household, but I was banished. I wandered, coming to reside in the Wilds. Lord Èomer and his company found me in a difficult position-"

"The Orcs had run her up a tree and were to chop it down to get her out. A few of my scouts found and destroyed the Orcs," Èomer said, cutting across my sentence.

I paused for a moment, reminding myself that we were no longer on horseback, where naught but the wind could hear our jests, but before a king that would determine my fate.

"Indeed, that was the case. They informed me that I was infringing upon Rohan's law, so they brought me before you, my lord," I said. I kept my voice low and humble, averting my gaze from the king.

"How was it that you came to be banished?" Théoden asked.

"I was charged with disobedience, my lord,” I said, my voice sad at the memory.

"What was the infringement?" Théoden asked.

"I cut roses from the garden for the table. The roses had been a special favorite of the Steward's late wife. I was in a rush, and I had forgotten the decree that no man was to pick those flowers under any circumstances. For my mistake, I was ordered to leave the White Tower," I said, tasting the bitter lie in my mouth. I didn't want to lie to the king, but it was better that he believed this than what I actually was banished for.

"Banished for cutting flowers?" Èomer questioned suspiciously.

I couldn't look at him, for I knew that he was see the lie in my eyes if I did.

"To Denethor, that is a serious offense. For us, it would be like wearing your aunt's jewels without permission," Théoden said with sympathy in his voice.

I still didn't chance a glance at him, but I could feel his gaze on me.

"What was it that you did in the White Tower?" Théoden asked casually.

"My mother was the nursemaid to the Steward's sons as they grew, but then became a maid once they were old enough. I was raised to be a maid to the household," I said softly.

_"Is Èowyn still looking for a lady-in-waiting? This woman is versed in the ways of royal families, and seems trustworthy enough,"_ Èomer asked of his king in Rohirric.

I pretended not to understand what he said, despite my knowledge. I could still feel Théoden's gaze on me.

"Look at me, child," he said after a moment.

I raised my eyes to meet Théoden's gaze, and I felt him see something in them. I was never quite sure why, but my wide green-grey eyes always stunned people upon inspection.

“If I were to extend you this offer, I would expect loyalty and fealty. You would be at my niece’s side, and she is precious to me. Do you understand?” Théoden asked, his eyes looking through me.

“I understand, my king,” I said, evenly.

“I wish to take a moment to discuss this with Lord Èomer. Please sit, and we will return shortly,” Théoden said, rising from his throne and looking at his nephew. 

He motioned to a bench along the wall. I curtsied again and moved to sit. Èomer and Théoden walked out of the hall through a door set to the left of the throne. I felt a pang of sadness as Èomer took my weapons with him.

As I sat on the bench, I watched household servants moving tables away from the wall opposite me and placing chairs along their sides. They were chattering rapidly in Rohirric, speaking too quickly for me to understand. I caught a few words and names, but they meant nothing without the full context. I pulled idly on a loose thread of my sleeve, thinking how desperately these clothes needed another patching. If I had to leave, I hoped the king would allow me to remain for a few days to resupply and ready myself for the wilds again.

I was surprised by the cold patch of sadness that found itself in my stomach. I didn’t know when it happened, but I found myself wishing for permission to stay, even if it wasn’t as a lady-in-waiting for the king’s niece. I shook the thought from my head. It wasn’t good to get my hopes up only to find myself disappointed again.

After several long moments, the tone of the room shifted. I looked to the door and found Théoden and Èomer reentering. I sprung to my feet, watching as Théoden moved back to his throne. He looked around, and once he found me in the shadows, he waved his hand to beckon me forward. I cast my gaze down and folded my hands in front of me as I moved to stand before him. 

“Èomer has told me of your journey, as much as he knows,” Théoden began.

I felt myself flush at the thought of Èomer relaying some of the uncouth things I had said when I had forgotten myself. But I had not been invited to speak, so I stayed silent and waited.

"And I told him that if you can survive the Wilds, I'm sure you could survive his sister. I would like to offer you a position in my household as a lady-in-waiting to my niece, Lady Èowyn," Théoden said at last.

I gave another curtsey. “I would be pleased to serve her, and you, my lord,” I said, feeling a half smile pull at my cheeks despite myself. 

The lady was summoned, and my eyes went wide. She was tall for a woman, not unlike her brother. She was dressed in a dress of deep green velvet with gold accents, and it made her long golden hair shine like the sun. Her face was solemn, but not without beauty. She carried herself with grace, but moved with purpose, unlike the ladies of the Gondorian court who just floated at a leisurely pace even when there was a need for haste.

"Èowyn, this woman has been brought home by your brother," Théoden said, speaking heartily.

"Surely not to marry. He's barely begun manhood,” the lady teased her brother.

He scoffed and I couldn't help but smirk. I hid it again before anyone took offense.

"No, of course not. This woman…what's your name child?" Théoden asked, trailing off but then picking up his own sentence.

"Braedia, my lord," I said, my voice soft again.

"Of course. Braedia has been brought to us to be your new lady-in-waiting. She served the Steward of Gondor's household, so she should be up to the task of waiting upon you," Théoden said.

I heard Èowyn approach and I half glanced up. She was slightly taller than me, as my Gondorian heritage showing in my stature. The top of my head was level with her brow, and she had to take a step back to examine me without staring down her nose.

“She can assist you with readying yourself for supper tonight,” Théoden suggested.

"She'll do. Get her cleaned up. She smells something foul," Èowyn sighed. She nodded to her uncle and brother and then walked away quickly back to where she had come from.

I looked up to her retreating figure, almost shocked by her treatment of me. But I knew better than to say anything about it. Théoden and Èomer laughed at her, but I was not amused.


	5. Chapter 5

As Èowyn left the room, Théoden beckoned to a guard, muttering something to him. The guard nodded and left the room. 

“I believe you may wish for these to be returned to you,” Èomer said, approaching with my weapons held out. 

I gave a small nod as I took my father’s weapons and clutched them to my chest. “Thank you, my lord,” I said softly. 

“Èomer tells me that you had mentioned that those weapons once belonged to your father,” Théoden mused.

I gave another nod. “Yes, my lord. He was a Ranger of Ithilien.” My face fell a little with the memories. 

“A noble assignment, indeed. Would it be false to state that he is no longer with us?” Théoden asked gently.

“It would not be, my lord. He was laid to rest when I was still a child. He was slain by Orcs after being taken captive, or so I was told. I only have few memories left, and these weapons are among them.” I shifted my gaze to one of the braziers to prevent the tears burning in the back of my eyes from falling. 

“I am sorry for your loss, Braedia. It is never easy to lose one whom we love dearly,” Théoden sighed. 

I chanced a quick glance at the king and saw that he was looking at the floor near his feet, his eyes clouded with his own memories. 

“You summoned me, Théoden King,” a woman’s voice called.

I looked and found a plainly dressed woman rising from a curtsey, a soft smile playing across her slightly aged face. Her dusty blonde hair was streaked with dark grey at the temples. 

“Yes, thank you. Can you please take Braedia to her new chambers? She is going to be Lady Èowyn’s new lady-in-waiting,” Théoden said, motioning to me. 

The woman smiled brightly and beckoned for me to follow her. I gave another curtsey to Théoden and a respectful nod to Èomer before scurrying after the woman, who had already turned on her heel and was leaving the main hall.

"Welcome to Edoras, Braedia. I'm Laraelia, but just call me Lara. It's easy to say in a hurry." The older woman, Lara, laughed at her own joke as we walked down a side corridor.

She seemed happy enough, which was comforting. She led me through a door to the right of Théoden’s throne, through a short passage and down a set of stairs to the undercroft of Meduseld. 

“The kitchen and household staff make their home down on this level,” Lara threw over her shoulder, waving to the passage. 

The passage was made of stone blocks and was lit at even intervals with torches in metal brackets. There were several chambers hidden behind plain wooden doors, but a few were open and empty. Their interiors were simple, or so I believed in the brief glimpses I was able to obtain as I passed behind Lara. 

“So, you look like you’re not from the Mark,” Lara said casually, turning down a passage. 

We passed a large set of double doors that were thrown wide open. The heat from the ovens spilled from the kitchen and into the hall as we passed. 

“No, I do not hail from Rohan. I was a maid in the household of the Steward of Minas Tirith,” I said vaguely, trying to take in as much of the layout as possible.

The undercroft of the Golden Hall appeared to be at least twice as large as the hall above. There were passages that branched off the main corridor, leading to storage rooms, or I could only assume other living spaces. 

"Maid of Minas Tirith? That's no small feat, be sure of that," she said cheerily.

Her language was a little lacking the standard I was used to but was not completely incomprehensible. It made me wonder if Westron was her first tongue or her second. She turned a corner and then came to a sudden stop, opening a door to a small room. She lit a candle, and I glanced around. The room contained a bed with a straw mattress, a bowl, and pitcher of water, a chamber pot, and chest of drawers on which all of these sat. The room contained very little else, and I reasoned this to be because this room was meant for sleeping only, and a place to spend leisure time. I also noticed a bell on a string that led to somewhere above. 

“That leads up to Lady Èowyn’s room. She will pull that to summon you if you are needed,” Lara explained as I stared quizzically. 

I pursed my lips and nodded, storing that bit of information away to be fully considered later. I opened the drawers and found them to be empty. I gently placed my weapons in the bottom drawer and set my pack on the ground next to the chest. 

“Lady Èowyn wishes you to bathe before going to her chambers. Let me lead you to the bathhouses,” Lara said, her voice somehow chipper and curt at the same time.

Before I could respond, Lara turned on her heel again and I sighed before hurrying after her. 

The bathhouse, to my surprise, was already full of steam when we arrived. There was a small pool fit for one person sunk into the ground, with a stream of hot water coming from a metal spout in the wall. The pool was not overflowing, so I imagined there was a drain of some kind I could not see. The steam was rising through a hole in the ceiling, but I could not see the sky overhead. 

“There is a hot spring under the hall, which allows it the be warm even in the dead of the coldest winter. It feeds these pools, which are for use by all that serve Théoden King and his household,” Lara explained with a smile when I looked back in confused amazement. 

Lara left to allow me to bathe in peace, going to fetch me a dress to befit my new station. I slipped into the hot water, finding it not too hot to stand, and I felt all my tense muscles relax. I wanted to stay in the hot water all day, letting it work out the soreness from riding. I rested my head against the side of the pool, letting my eyes close for a moment. A wave of weariness washed over me; it had been almost two days since I had gotten a full night’s rest and I was beginning to feel sleep pull at the edges of my mind. I shook myself and sat up before I could be pulled under. I found a little basket of soaps and cloths, and I sighed in contentment. I washed my hair with the magnificent soaps, finally feeling it grow soft under their care. I washed all the remaining grime from my body with additional soaps. I felt like I scrubbed until my skin would tear off, but it was worth the effort to reclaim it.

I finished my bath and wrapped myself in a towel. I sat on a bench that ran along the same wall as the door, running my fingers through my hair to discourage any tangles from forming. My hair dried quickly, despite the considerable amount of steam, turning to beautiful and perfect ringlets in my hands. It wasn't long before Lara returned with a linen gown the color of dark peat moss with a cream colored underdress. I found the linen to be soft, and it felt nice to be in something clean for once. Lara promised that my old tunic and breeches would be cleaned and returned to my room.

I quickly pulled some of my hair back and away from my face and followed Lara to Lady Èowyn's chambers. Lara knocked softly, and there was a beckoning call from inside. Lara smiled and then quickly moved back down the passage. I opened the door and slipped inside, closing it softly behind me. Èowyn was sitting by the fireplace, and she stood when I entered. I curtsied and waited for her word to begin my work.

"Come here," Èowyn called softly.

I kept my eyes to the floor respectfully and did what I was asked.

"Stop looking at the floor," she commanded.

I looked up into her eyes, and she made a noise of satisfaction as she regarded me.

"I don't need a lady-in-waiting, regardless of what my brother and uncle think. I can do most things by myself," Èowyn said strongly.

I nodded, staying silent as I waited for her to invite my input. 

"The chambermaids bring my meals, when I do not dine with my uncle. I may need occasional assistance with dressing. But I can see through whatever scheme my brother has tried to concoct," she went on. She was looking at me with a piercing glare, as if trying to catch me in something.

I blinked several times, waiting for her to clarify. “My lady?” I stammered.

“Èomer wants to surround me with women who are gentle, ladylike, courteous. Do not think you are the first with whom he’s tried to soften me. He hopes that your gracious behavior will bring me to heel. Let me guess: you have an older brother waiting in your father’s keep he wishes to groom me for,” she scoffed. 

I couldn’t help the little ironic chuckle that escaped my lips. I caught myself quickly as her look turned dark. “There is no scheme, my lady. At least not one of which I am aware. There is no father, no keep, nor any siblings of any kind for which Lord Èomer could groom you. My father and mother have been laid to rest these many years past, and I was the only child they were able to produce,” I said with a sad sigh.

Èowyn blinked several times, considering these facts. “Are you…not of noble blood?” she asked at last. 

“No, my lady. I was only ever a servant in service to the Steward of Gondor and his household,” I said with a shake of my head. 

Èowyn considered me for another moment, and then her face softened. Her eyes came to rest on my hands. Her eyebrow rose at the sight of the callouses, rough, hardened knuckles, and broken nails. I blushed and quickly moved my hands behind my back. 

“Perhaps you will be of use to me, after all,” Èowyn muttered to herself.

I had to work to keep my face smooth. Èomer had been right.

"You speak well, for a servant," she remarked, walking to a grand wardrobe on the wall. She started looking through the gowns that hung inside.

"The servants of the White Tower were held to a slightly higher standard than most. The red one would look lovely on you, my lady," I said, adding on my thoughts as her hand fell on a dress of a deep red velvet.

"Indeed," she said softly, pulling it from the wardrobe.

I helped Èowyn dress and spent some time with her sitting, my hands creating intricate designs in her long hair. When I was finished, she looked in her mirror and smiled.

"You are quite skilled," she said happily.

I nodded my head slightly in thanks. “You are kind to say so, my lady.”

"Come. We go to dinner," she declared, moving swiftly from the room.

I followed behind her, watching as her dress flowed like a river around her legs. We came to the Great Hall, where more tables had been laid out. Several groups of people were gathered at other tables around the hall, and there was a table set with platters of food off to one side. People were taking plates of food from this buffet and sitting among their fellows to eat. Théoden, Èomer, and another man sat at the table closest to the throne. They stood when Èowyn swept into the room, smiling at the woman. I stood behind a little, taking to the shadows behind Èowyn rather than calling attention to myself. I did, however, catch Èomer's stare for a moment before he realized he had been found out and then returned to his family.

Èowyn sat at the table and I began to move toward the benches along the wall, trying to tell my rolling stomach that it would get its meal later once I had been dismissed. But the smell of cooked meats and vegetables were making the task increasingly difficult.

"Braedia, where are you? Come meet my family," Èowyn called, looking around her.

I swept forward quickly, stepping to her side. She relaxed a little and introduced me to Théodred, King Théoden's son. He looked to be not much older than myself, Èowyn or Èomer, which I found comforting. I started to excuse myself when other servants began to bring out their food, but Èowyn stopped me with a look. 

“Join me, Braedia,” she commanded boldly. 

“My lady, it is hardly proper—” I began, keeping my gaze firmly averted from the king.

“I did not ask if it was proper for you to join me. I asked you to sit and eat with me.” Èowyn’s tone made it clear she would hear no further discussion of the matter.

The first few weeks of my service to Lady Èowyn were challenging, to say the least. She tested my strengths and weaknesses in ways I never thought were possible. She took me with her when her uncle bid her to settle disputes among the citizens of Edoras. She often turned to me for advice about decisions before she made them and would not let me escape the conversation without hearing my true thoughts, my best efforts to deflect notwithstanding her relentlessness. I was only her handmaiden, not her counsel. 

It was easy to see why she believed that her brother was trying to groom her to be a proper lady. If she had been in the court of Gondor, her behavior may have led to her honor being questioned by those bold enough to think such things. She spoke with little heed to the feelings of others at times, but no one would ever mistake her honesty for lack of tact. She demanded the same level of honesty in those around her, and she was forever vexed by my courtesy and, as she put it, equivocating niceties. 

Her bold behavior only took her when her brother and cousin were absent from Edoras. Èomer was gone for months at a time, ranging in the Eastfold and staying at his family’s home in the city of Alburg. Èowyn often spoke of the ancient citadel, as she had been raised there for a short time before her father and mother passed. Théodred was seen more frequently between ranging, as his home was Meduseld. She was practically ladylike when Èomer was in the city, only slightly less so when Théodred was in residence.

Spring passed into summer, and Théoden himself was called away from Edoras to look after his kingdom. Once all of those who might oppose it were absent, she finally broached the subject of swordplay with her usual grace and subtlety. She knew I could fight, and wanted me to spar with her. At first, I had to refuse. She was a lady, and even though women in battle was much less frowned upon in Rohan, if it were discovered that I was engaging in swordplay with the king’s niece, I would be fortunate to escape Rohan with only a banishment and not a flogging for such behavior. But, as was her way, Èowyn eventually worked me into submission. We would then find time to practice in her sitting room, pushing the furniture aside to allow for more space. If anyone noticed our activities, no one dared to cross Èowyn and mention it. 

But soon summer faded into autumn, and all of the captains were called home for the harvest. Even Èomer found his way back to Edoras for the harvest festival and took his residence in the Golden Hall as the snow began to settle over Rohan. The snows of the season caused us to be shut inside of Meduseld for many days at a time, which I would have minded, except the company was very pleasant. Èomer and Théodred would often sit and converse with Èowyn, and myself by extension, for many hours while the storms raged outside. 

As spring began again, Èowyn became restless and wanted to ride, but I always found a reason to remain behind when she bid me to ride with her. In truth, I was growing more used to the presence of the horses, but they still made me nervous, and I was loath to ride one on my own still. Èowyn had complained loudly and often when she returned of how boring her other riding companions had been, though I knew she rarely stayed with them long enough to carry on any kind of conversation. And even though I knew she was perfectly capable, she would often make me brush down her mare after her rides, claiming sudden fatigue. Her attempt to force me into familiarity with the horses was a thin veil, but I could not deny a direct command. So, with the help of the stable hands, I managed to learn the very basics, cursing her stubbornness with every stroke of the brush.


	6. Chapter 6

One fine spring morning, when the air was sweet and warm to taste, I was out in the stables, rubbing down Èowyn's horse. She had just returned from her morning ride and was bathing to prepare for the early supper her uncle had called. I was invited, as well, but I had more time than she did because I only had to rinse and change.

As I stood in the stall, I spoke in soft Rohirric to the horse, which kept her calm. She must have assumed that, because I spoke the tongue of her mistress, I could be trusted. I had yet to reveal to even Èowyn that I spoke the language of her people. I understood more than I spoke, and I was still trying to perfect my pronunciation. Being surrounded by the language helped, but only speaking to myself could only get me so far. 

"Is that you, Èowyn? I thought you would have gone in by now."

A familiar male voice pulled me from my musings. I felt my body freeze; the mare felt my tension and stamped a little anxiously. I tried to relax to calm the mare, and she at least stopped moving, even if she didn’t lose the anxious look to her eye. The heavy footfalls approached and Èomer appeared at the gate of the stall.

"Braedia? Was that you speaking just now?” Èomer asked, confused.

I sighed, stopping my progress in grooming Èowyn's horse. I had made a promise to myself shortly after my arrival that, when asked a direct question, I wouldn't lie to the royal family. It felt so terrible to lie to them the first night, and I was determined not to do it again.

"Yes, my lord. I was the one speaking," I said, my voice heavy.

"But that was Rohirric," Èomer pointed out with a scoff.

"Yes, my lord. I speak a little Rohirric and understand even more. My mother's great-grandfather was of the Riddermark. He taught my great-grandfather to speak the language, and he taught his son, and he taught my mother, who taught me. I also speak a little Elvish, for it is the language of the ancient Gondorian people. But I barely understand a word of that language," I said, turning back to brushing Èowyn’s horse to hide the blush I could feel creeping up my neck and face.

Èomer made a noise of astonishment. I could feel his gaze upon me as I worked, and I let my hair fall over my shoulder to hide my face. It had been a slightly warm day, but I suddenly felt overheated.

"Have you cleaned her hooves yet?" Èomer asked, opening the door to the stall.

I shook my head. "I never get near her hooves, unless I have to," I said, my voice a little nervous.

Èomer laughed and pet the mare on the nose.

"Why did you not mention this before? That you are distantly of Rohan?" Èomer questioned after requesting the hoof pick.

I fetched it for him, and our skin touched as I passed it to him. More heat crept up my arm at the contact.

"It did not seem important," I said softly.

I pulled my hand away, but I kept eye contact with Èomer. I felt a strange tugging at my heart, and I looked away. I was still in love with another. I could not allow myself to fall for another noble. Èomer braced his weight against the mare's flank and lifted her hoof easily. He cleaned it with precision, and the horse barely took notice of his efforts. In short order, the hooves were clean and Èomer straightened up again. He was on the other side of the mare now and was looking at me curiously over her back.

"Has your riding improved any since we last shared a mount?" Èomer asked, a little playfully.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Indeed, it has not, my lord. This is as close as you will find me to a horse," I said, a little laughter in my voice.

Èomer paused and looked at me again. "I could teach you to ride, if you wish. It seems like a skill that you could use. My sister always complains that you never go riding with her," Èomer said, his tone still light.

I had begun to pack away the grooming supplies, but I straightened up and looked at Èomer sharply. He was looking at me intently, a spark playing behind his eyes. I pursed my lips and looked away.

"My lord, it hardly seems proper,” I dismissed. I was gently brushing at my skirt just to have something to do with my hands.

"I do not see why it would be. I am the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, after all. It almost seems to be my duty," Èomer said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.

“What of your ranging, my lord? Will you be too often gone from the city to teach a servant to ride a horse?” I asked, my voice sounding weak to my own ears.

“I have been asked to stay closer to Edoras for the time being. There has been more activity in the Westfold as of late, and my uncle does not wish for my _éored_ to be far if reinforcements should be needed,” Èomer said, his voice growing dark. 

I nodded, a frown coming to my lips. Èowyn spoke often of how her uncle worried over the attacks coming to small villages on the outskirts of the Mark. No one yet knew from where the Orcs kept coming, and there were never any left alive to question. 

"Consider it for a while. It would bring my sister joy to have a friendly companion with her, and I cannot deny that it would bring ease to my mind if someone we trusted could be with her, so she stopped going off on her own,” Èomer said, walking around the horse.

He looked down at me with an intensity to his gaze that took me a little aback. My mouth went dry, and I had to swallow before I spoke again.

"I will, my lord. Consider the proposition," I said, correcting myself before my meaning became unclear.

Èomer smiled, and I gave him my ghost of a smile. I still couldn't bring myself to smile, even when I had many reasons to. He offered me his arm to escort me back to the hall, but I politely declined. It really wasn't necessary. We made our way up to the hall in comfortable silence. It was pleasant to have one such as Èomer that I could walk with, but never be forced to say a word.

We parted in the hall, and I moved quickly to my room to wash and change. I found a suitable dress, a midnight purple frock that had been gifted to me by Èowyn. She had been given the dress as a gift, but she felt that it did not suit her coloring. I had to bring up the hem, but there was nothing I could do to bring in the slightly too-wide shoulders. I moved to my basin and washed my face and arms. Èowyn loved her horses, but she did not like to smell them outside of the stable. I dressed quick enough and made my way to Èowyn's room. She was waiting for me, almost impatient. I helped her into a pretty blue dress and quickly styled her hair. By this time, we were almost nearly late for supper. We moved at a fast walk in order to meet the other royals at the dining table.

They were waiting for us, talking and laughing. Èowyn and I sat down at our usual seats, and then the meal began. I always admired the quality of the food served at Edoras. The king's meals were always magnificent, but even the servants' food was delicious. The fabled hospitality of the Rohirrim was unmatched. About halfway through supper, Théoden put down his fork and looked at his family.

"I met with our friend, Saruman the White today," he said after a moment of silence.

His family stopped eating and looked up at the king expectantly. I knew very little about this Saruman the White, only that he was head of the order of wizards and that he was a great ally to King Théoden.

"What was this meeting about?" the king's son asked, his tone and face casual.

"I needed some advice. I mentioned that I wished I could be more at leisure to ride out for advice, so he is sending a man whom he trusts to be my advisor on his behalf. He will be here on the morrow," Théoden said, speaking slowly.

"Have we not been of enough service, my lord? Is there something we could have done?" Èowyn asked almost as soon as the words passed his lips.

"You have been more than enough, Èowyn. But these are dark times, and I do not wish to trouble you with an old man's worries," Théoden said soothingly.

His family seemed to doubt his answer but made no reply. The next course was served, and the meal continued in silence. Théodred, Èomer, and Èowyn seemed lost in their thoughts, so I left them alone. Far be it from me to press someone into speech when they do not wish to speak. When the plates were cleared, and dessert was served, Èomer turned to me.

"Have you considered my offer, Braedia?" he asked suddenly.

I looked up from my plate, my eyes wide. "My lord, you asked me but hours ago. You've hardly given me time to think," I said, after swallowing the mouthful of cake with some difficulty.

"What offer, Èomer?" Théoden asked, a little suspicious.

“Braedia does not know how to ride, uncle. Since you wish to have me stay in Edoras for the foreseeable future, I offered to teach her,” Èomer said casually.

His hazel eyes were twinkling with mischief. My lips pursed again, and my eyes narrowed as I regarded him.

"Do you not have that skill?" Théoden asked confused.

"No, my lord. I never had the need to learn. Any place I wished to go was only a short walk," I said, my voice soft and demure. I turned my gaze back to my plate, pushing some crumbs with my fork.

"Valar be praised; there is a skill that this lady does not possess! I was beginning to think the contrary," Théodred teased gently.

I looked at him with a scolding half-smile. He always liked to tease me and goad me into losing my temper whenever he, his cousins, and I were alone, but I did not expect the same treatment before his father.

"She is frightfully timid around them, uncle. She won't go with me on my daily ride, which makes the whole affair dreadfully lonely," Èowyn joined in.

I looked at her sharply. I never expected her to join this battle against me. Théoden chuckled at their comments.

"You are in Rohan, Braedia. You cannot expect my people, my family in particular, to take well to your lack of skill on horseback. I am fit to agree with them on the matter. A person, man or woman, should at least have a basic level of comfort on horseback. You are to commence daily lessons with Èomer, and when he is not in Edoras, Èowyn will take up the mantle until he returns," Théoden said, his tone suggesting that the matter was settled.

I consented softly, and everyone returned to their dessert. I hardly had any appetite left, so I merely pushed the remnants around the plate. I silently and inwardly fumed over the whole matter. Èomer must have known that I would not consent of my own free will, so he forced my hand in the matter. Out of the many things that I could endure from other people, manipulation was not one of them. I understood that I was a maid, and at the bidding of my superiors, but I would have rather be banished or executed than do anything against my will.

When the meal concluded, I quickly excused myself from the company and went to my room. I resisted the strong urge I had to slam my door but could not contain my fury as I threw myself face down on my cot. I took a few deep breaths, trying to keep from screaming into my pillow. I willed my mind to stillness, pushing down curses and fears.

My thoughts strayed, as they often did, back to Minas Tirith. The Mid-Year Celebration would be fast approaching. It was always a day full of activity and excitement, and it was easy to lose oneself in the crowd and find a private place. My heart panged painfully at the memories of stolen meetings and kisses exchanged in darkened alleys on the courage and recklessness of too much ale or wine…

I felt a tear leak from the depths of my eyes, and I sat up to wipe them away. I scolded myself for my indulgence. That life was over; there was no use in dwelling upon things that could not be. 

But my thoughts were interrupted as the bell chimed insistently from the wall. I gave it a half-hearted glare and then a short sigh. I had forgotten to go with Èowyn after the meal. She must need assistance in readying for the evening’s rest. I reached over and grabbed the string, tugging it twice, signaling to Èowyn that I was on my way. With another huff, I stood and traced my well-worn path up to the lady’s room.

Because Èowyn had summoned me, I did not knock before opening the door to her chambers. 

“My lady, I apologize for leaving so hastily from sup—” I began as I entered. 

But my sentence died in my throat as I looked and saw not Èowyn, but Èomer seated in one of the high-backed chairs before the fireplace. He was looking at me with a serious expression, and he stood with easy grace. His hands went behind his back and his head seemed to be slightly bowed as he regarded me.

“My lord, I did not expect…where is Lady Èowyn? Did she not summon me?” I asked, stumbling over my words. I looked around and took an involuntary step back toward the door. No, I had not entered the wrong door by mistake. These were the lady’s chambers.

“She has stepped away for a moment, speaking with my uncle and cousin about the living arrangements for this new advisor. And she did not summon you; I did. I wished to speak with you regarding our lessons, and it is not proper for me to go to you in your chambers without being expressly invited,” Èomer explained.

“Now you are concerned with propriety and my feelings,” I mumbled harshly, unable to stop my eyes from rolling.

“What did you say?” Èomer asked, his voice thin and tense.

“Nothing, my lord. What do you wish to discuss with me?” I replied coolly, forcing my face to its calm mask.

Èomer blinked several times, his lips in a frown, taken aback by my sudden shift. He motioned to the chair opposite him, returning to his own seat. I sat with as much grace as I could, perching myself on the edge of my seat, my back straight and my hands folded gracefully in my lap. I turned my gaze to the fire, pointedly not looking at Èomer.

“I do apologize for what happened at supper. I did not expect Théodred and Èowyn to speak so strongly,” Èomer began after clearing his throat.

I gave a short nod, acknowledging the apology. I kept my gaze to the hearth and my lips closed, because I was not sure what would come out if I didn’t. 

“And I apologize if it appears that I am acting in disregard of your feelings,” Èomer continued. 

I nodded again, but could not stop myself from retorting. “Of course, my lord. Though I do have to question how you could possibly know my feelings without once asking.”

I snapped a glare in his direction, but my face softened immediately. He was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes were a bright gold in the firelight, and his expression was sincere. I sighed, relaxing my stiff posture, allowing my shoulders to slump forward slightly and my eyes looked at his hands as they hung between his knees.

"There is a reason I do not feel comfortable around horses," I said, my voice low.

I looked to his face again. Èomer was looking at me questioningly, waiting for me to continue. I moved back in my seat, resting against the back of the chair. My heart was already pounding in my chest. I relaxed my face as I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I could feel a heat in my chest that had nothing to do with the fire, and my palms were sweating again.

"I was young, not into my teens. My father had been teaching me to ride on his horse. The gelding was calm and was rarely spooked. But there was a time when he was called into a scouting campaign, so he had to take his horse. Determined to continue my lesson on my own, I decided to use another horse. A stallion. Not thinking of the other riders in the paddock, I took him out. But there was a mare in season. I tried to control the stallion, but I was young, and my strength was nothing compared to that of the horse," I said, my voice breaking.

I swallowed to try to keep my inner panic at bay, but I couldn't help the images that replayed in my mind. The bucking of the horse. The flashing of hooves above me. The unnatural noises that came from the beast.

"Were you hurt?" Èomer asked softly.

I shook my head. There was a long moment of silence where only the crackling of the fire hung in the air.

“I have never been thrown from my seat, but I have heard the trumpet of the stallion as he mounts a mare. And if you were but a child…” Èomer’s voice trailed off. His gaze went to the fire, and I could see the flames dancing with his thoughts.

I let the silence hang for another moment before a smirk crept onto my face. 

“It hardly seems possible that you have _never_ been thrown from a horse,” I said, letting my smirk bleed into my tone. 

Èomer’s gaze snapped back to me, and he returned my smirk. “Well, I have never been thrown from Firefoot’s back.”

I chuckled a few times. “He’s never been spooked?” I asked, incredulous. 

Èomer shook his head. “Not while I am astride him. Or at least, never so much that I have felt the need to dismount. He has been with me for too long for anything to spook him so greatly when he knows that his reins are in my hands.”

I chuckled humorlessly at him and rolled my eyes. "Regardless of how I feel about the matter, I know that you are right and mean well. I do need to learn to ride, lest I incur your sister's wrath,” I said with a heavy sigh.

Èomer laughed and sat another moment with me in comfortable silence.

"I will think on everything you have told me, and we will begin as soon as you have finished dressing my sister tomorrow morning," Èomer said, standing.

"Thank you, my lord. I am sure that you will be an excellent teacher," I said, looking up at him.

He nodded at me and walked to the door. He was about to leave but turned back to me.

“Good-night, Braedia,” he said with a smile.

"Good-night, my lord," I said, giving a small smile of my own.

He did not respond, but left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. I sighed and looked at the fire again. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't help but feel the corners of my mouth pulling upwards slightly. The prospect of lessons with Èomer didn't sound nearly as daunting as it had before.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a pronunciation guide for some of the names at the end of this chapter so check that out. Enjoy

The next morning, I woke suddenly, wide awake and eager. I dressed in a pair of breeches and a tunic, cinching the waist of the tunic with a belt. I found that I had to wait quite a while before Èowyn’s bell rang for me to assist her with dressing for the day. I must have woken far earlier than I had thought. 

Èowyn laughed loudly as she saw me enter her chambers. “Why, don’t you look fit for a day in the saddle,” she said between fits of giggles.

I rolled my eyes with a half-smile and picked up the dress that had been airing out on the chair near her wardrobe. 

“You will love riding, Braedia. If you go fast enough, it feels like flying. The freedom…” Èowyn stopped and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “It is unlike any other feeling in the world.”

I hummed a little and helped her dress. The thought of being able to gallop without someone to keep me in the saddle seemed like a far-flung dream. 

Èowyn dismissed me before I could do more than brush out her hair, reminding me not to miss lunch. I nodded and curtsied before hurrying out of the door and out of the hall. As I went to the stables, I plaited my hair quickly, knowing that it would be best to keep it away from my face. I felt my nervousness grow, unsure of what to expect. I knew that Èomer wouldn't lead me knowingly into harm, and I felt a little more comfortable, knowing that he now knew the source of my fear.

I found Èomer standing beside a stall in the stable. He was leaning against one of the beams that provided a division between the stalls, and he stood up straight once he saw me. I walked over to him, curtsying with respect and then I looked at the horse in the stall. The horse looked old, even to my untrained eye. He was dark brown, but there were patches of white around his mouth, eyes, and ears. His dark eyes looked tired, and he chewed idly at some of the hay in his stall. But more interestingly, he was already brushed and saddled. 

“Good morning, Braedia. Are you ready?” Èomer asked, and I could hear the excitement that he couldn’t keep from creeping into his voice. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be, my lord,” I said with a tense sigh. 

Èomer gave me an encouraging smile. “Well, let me introduce you to our friend for the day. This old gentleman is Gestande. He’s seen many battles and earned his place in the herd to rest easy for the remainder of his days. But he’s going to help me teach you the basics while we wait.” Èomer spoke fondly, brushing the top of Gestande’s head with a distant smile. 

“While we wait for what?” I asked, unable to stop myself. 

“That is going to be a surprise for later. First, let’s go out and get you up,” Èomer said, clapping his hands. 

I swallowed and nodded. To my disbelief, when Èomer opened the stall and took the reins, he held them out for me to take. I clenched my fist closed and then open again before taking them. I could not stop looking at Gestande, but he paid me little mind except to look up at the tension on his lead. Èomer went to the next stall and, in another surprise, led out Firefoot. Èomer laughed at my wide-eyed expression, but then beckoned me to follow him out of the stable and into the paddock. I gave a little tug on the lead, and Gestande responded to my command without hesitation or resistance. He kept pace at my shoulder, and I felt my face pull into a proud, little smile. 

When we reached the paddock, Èomer showed me how to tie the lead to a post, and then moved to my side. 

“I want you to try to mount, and see what you remember,” Èomer instructed. 

I reached out and grabbed the front and back of the saddle, trying to maneuver my foot into the stirrup, but Èomer stopped me with a laugh. He pulled my hand from the horn and gave me the reins. He helped me find the right place in the stirrup with my left foot and then stepped back. I gave a mighty leap but couldn’t get the right leverage and only managed to hop a foot or so off the ground. I could hear Èomer’s muffled chuckle from Gestande’s head. I shot a glare in his direction, and then I tried again. I managed to get a little higher, but still not high enough to fully mount. I puffed out a frustrated sigh. 

“Let me help you,” Èomer said with a chuckle. 

I felt him move behind me, and I swallowed my sarcastic retort. But any other thoughts I had were flung out of my mind as his hand came to rest on the top of my left thigh. 

“Push off with both legs; you will never get the correct spring if you rely solely on your standing leg,” he said, his voice calm in my ear. 

“What if the saddle slides?” I asked before I could stop myself. 

“That is what this strap is for, to prevent such a thing,” Èomer explained, reaching around me to touch a wide strap that circled Gestande’s middle. 

I was glad that I was facing away from him because I was sure that I was flushing worse than a maid on her wedding night. 

“I’ll help you into the saddle, for we have other things to do before our lesson is over, and I would hate to waste a whole morning on mounting. We’ll practice some more tomorrow,” Èomer said, both of his hands coming to rest on my waist. 

I was so startled by the contact that I nearly did not hear his instruction to jump. I gave a little jump, and with almost no effort, his hands lifted me from the ground. Out of some deep instinct, I swung my right leg over Gestande’s hindquarters and sat down. I looked down at Èomer with an astonished grin on my face, and he chuckled. 

Sitting on Gestande’s back was an almost surreal experience. We were not moving, but I could feel every little side step, every breath between my legs. I looked down at his head, and he looked back at me, almost bored. Èomer untied the lead and handed me the reins. I took them in my fists, and Èomer’s burst of laughter nearly startled me out of my seat. Èomer reached up and showed me how to hold the reins with one hand, leaving my dominant hand free. When he was satisfied that I was holding the reins correctly, he untied Firefoot and led him over to a gate, turning back to look at me expectantly. 

“How do I…make him walk?” I asked bewildered, looking down at Gestande and back to Èomer. 

“Squeeze with your knees, and nudge with your heels, but not too hard, or he might bolt,” Èomer called back. 

I nodded and swallowed. I gave a small nudge and then yelped as Gestande began to walk forward. I had to hold my right hand out for balance as he walked but lowered it as I caught the barely suppressed laughter in Èomer’s face. As I approached, Èomer mounted Firefoot and fell into stride alongside me. 

“We are going down to the field to speak with the herd master,” Èomer indicated as he led the way along the road. 

As we walked, I found myself settling into the rhythm of Gestande’s movements. I found my balance in the saddle and found that some of my father’s instructions about posture and carriage came back with ease. It felt strange to hold the reins in one hand, but I found that I had decent control over direction. 

“Keep your elbows down, or someone may mistake you for a goose about to take flight,” Èomer chuckled. 

I looked down and blushed again as I found that my elbows were extended quite a ways from my sides. I pulled them back in with another flood of heat coming to cheeks. Èomer gave me an approving smile before looking back down the path. 

Soon enough, we came to the gate which led out to the horse pasture. Guards on post saw Èomer’s coming and opened the gate to allow us to pass through. The field was wide, and I could see the line of the palisade running low along the edges. But I could also see the herds of horses that wandered freely in the space. While not at war, the horses of Edoras could wander freely while still in safety. This was also where the royal breeder kept his mares, and their offspring while they grew before they started training. 

Èomer and I walked for a short while before coming to a stop, my halt less smooth than Èomer’s. He looked out across the expanse and smiled. I looked and saw a figure moving toward us. I had to force myself not to tense to prevent Gestande from moving again. The rider slowed and shouted a greeting to Èomer. The man was older, perhaps Théoden’s age. His blond hair had a slightly red tint, and his blue eyes were piercing even from a distance. But he wore an easy smile and clasped arms with Èomer as if they were brothers. 

“Braedia, this is Herumer, master of the herds here at Edoras. Herumer, this is Braedia, lady-in-waiting to my sister,” Èomer introduced. 

To my surprise, Herumer reached over to clasp my arm as he had with Èomer. I did so best as I could without losing my seat. 

“So where is she, my friend?” Èomer asked eagerly, looking out over the fields. 

Herumer laughed. “As you had requested, Aldgar is bringing her in now. She’ll be brought up to the stables today.”

I looked confused to Èomer, wanting an explanation but knowing better than to speak out of turn. Èomer caught my look and gave me a smile. 

“One of the reasons I have such a close bond with Firefoot is that I was deeply involved with his saddle breaking. My father gave me the pick of the yearlings and told me that he would be mine to train. The trust between rider and a mount is paramount, both on and off the battlefield,” Èomer said, his voice distant as his thoughts strayed to the past. 

“I had Aldgar, our trainer, pick this little filly special. I think you’re going to be impressed,” Herumer said, his voice and chest swelling with pride. He even threw a sly wink in my direction.

He looked out over the field again, and then gave a hum of satisfaction. I followed his gaze and saw a rider with a smaller horse beside him. I felt my breath leave me as the rider and the yearling approached. She was small, almost a pony. But she pranced to a stop, tossing her head. Her coat was bright red, shining like a ruby under the morning sun. Her mane was the same red color and fell elegantly along her neck. She had black eyes, and it was like looking into a deep pool as her gaze connected with me. 

“What do you think, Braedia?” Èomer asked, breaking the trance. 

I cleared my throat but could not stop myself from staring with wide eyes. “She is beautiful, my lord,” I replied faintly. 

“I’m glad you think so, because she is yours,” Èomer said, beaming. 

I looked at him, my jaw dropping. “My lord, I can’t…this is too much. I simply cannot accept such a mighty gift,” I stammered, looking between the filly and Èomer. 

To my surprise, he laughed. “I say you can. You will work with Aldgar to train her when you are not having your lessons with me. And once she is ready, you will be her rider,” Èomer said, his tone full of finality. He nodded to Aldgar, who led the yearling back out of the pasture toward the gate. 

I pursed my lips as we said our goodbyes to Herumer and began our walk back up the hill. I was trying to form a way to reject this extremely generous gift without seeming ungrateful and without offending anyone involved. She was a beautiful horse, but I did not know the first thing about training yearlings; I barely knew how to hold my seat at a walk. Before I knew what had happened, Èomer was dismounting, and I imitated his movements before he could come over to assist me. We walked our mounts back into the stable, Èomer handing Firefoot over to a groom for more extensive exercise than our short walk had provided. 

Èomer supervised me as I removed the saddle and bridle. I was used to this part of horse care. I did this regularly for Èowyn. 

“Have you any ideas for a name?” Èomer asked. 

I looked and saw he was sitting on an upturned bucket, his legs stretched out casually in front of him. 

“My lord, I truly do appreciate the gesture, but I cannot accept,” I said, tensely.

“And why not? She belongs to Meduseld, and my uncle gave me permission to grant you a yearling,” Èomer countered. 

“But surely there is another that would be more…” My voice trailed away. I turned to pick up the brush, but found that Èomer had moved to stand over the pail, holding it in his hand. 

“More what, Braedia? Deserving?” Èomer asked, and my face flushed as he pulled the word from my eyes.

“Experienced,” I replied coolly. I tried to take the brush from his hand but, he held fast. I looked up to his face and my nasty words caught in my throat as I saw the sincere look to his face. His eyes were green in the shade of the stable, and I had to remark at how quiet it was in this corner. 

“There is no one else,” Èomer said, his voice nearly a whisper. 

“My lord—” I began with a frustrated sigh. 

But Èomer held up a hand and stopped me. He suddenly took my hand and pulled me out of the stall and down the passage to another row of stalls. Almost as if she heard our approach, the yearling stuck her head out of the stall to look down toward us. Her gaze caught me again. Maybe she was not as small as I had first believed. Èomer walked me over to her stall and stood me in front of her again. I looked at her deep black eyes, and there was something I could not shake. I reached my hand out and she pressed her nose to my palm. 

“Braedia, this yearling…from the moment I saw her in the field, I knew she had to belong to you. Whether it be after she was trained or before, you would have been her rider. I want you to work with Aldgar to train her, as I worked with Aldgar to train Firefoot. It matters not that you do not know how; he will teach you,” Èomer explained, an almost pleading tone to his voice.

I felt my frown soften as I moved from the filly’s nose to her cheek, petting her gently. I felt my lips turn upward as I stood in silence. I could feel Èomer’s gaze on the side of my face, almost willing me to speak. 

“Narmírë,” I said softly at long last. I turned to look at Èomer. “Her name will be Narmírë.”

“What does it mean?” Èomer asked, curious. 

“Fire jewel. My father often called my mother by the name, because she had red hair,” I said with a sad smile. 

Èomer smiled back at me. “Then Narmírë her name shall be,” he said with a satisfied sigh. 

We stood for another moment before suddenly, the sound of the midday bell rang through the air. I jumped a little at the sound. Èomer and I looked at each other, and then hurried out of the stable and back up to the hall. We parted with a nod and I hurried down to my chamber. As I closed the door, I leaned against it for a moment, feeling a warm patch in my chest that had nothing to do with my recent exercise. But I shook my head; I could not allow such foolish notions to enter my thoughts. I quickly washed and changed from my breeches to a dress in anticipation of the meal. After I was prepared, I went to find Èowyn to see if she needed my help. She was not in her chambers, so I went to the hall. I found her sitting at the table with her family and one other.

As I approached the table, I saw that the newcomer had taken Èomer's usual seat to the King's left, and Èomer had moved to sit at the opposite end of the table from his uncle. I could tell from the crease of his brow that he was not pleased. I sat down in my usual seat next to Èowyn and looked at the man who had joined us. He was dressed in heavy black furs, which made his abnormally pale skin look almost translucent. His eyes were strange and gave me an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. One of his eyes was bright blue and the other was black as a starless night. When he looked at me, I could not help but look away.

“Who is this charming maiden?” he asked once the meal was started.

“She is Lady Èowyn's lady-in-waiting. Braedia, this is Gríma,” Théoden said, motioning between us.

“Braedia,” Gríma repeated, and the way he said my name made my skin crawl and a chill run up my spine.

I nodded to him but said nothing otherwise. We ate in a thick silence for a long moment. As the second course was served, Èomer looked up at me.

“You did very well today. Not many people would adjust their riding so quickly,” Èomer commented.

“It feels a little familiar, even after more than a score of years,” I said with a small chuckle.

“Which yearling did you choose, Braedia? The stock is quite good this year,” Théoden asked curiously.

“The red filly, uncle,” Èomer said quickly, and I could have sworn that there was a slight tint of pink to his cheeks. 

“Very good,” Théoden said with an approving smile before returning to his plate. 

I looked to Èomer again, and as our eyes connected, an embarrassed smile spread across his face. I could not help the small giggle that escaped but tried to cover it with a cough. I spent the rest of the meal not looking at Èomer, knowing that if I did, I would not be able to control my laughter. 

After the meal was concluded, I followed Èowyn back to her chambers and she invited me to sit with her for a while in her sitting room. I found a piece of embroidery that I had been working on, and Èowyn took to reading a book. But to my surprise, after a short while, a second door I had not noticed opened and Èomer entered, taking a chair from a nearby table and pulling it over to sit with us near the window. His frown had returned, and his brow was cut with a troubled furrow. 

“Gríma is not the man I would have expected to be sent to us by Saruman,” Èowyn said at last. 

“Nor I,” Èomer agreed, his voice a low rumble. “He has a troubling look to his eye.”

“What do you think of Gríma, Braedia?” Èowyn asked, turning to me.

I looked up, a little surprised. “My opinion does not matter, my lady,” I said softly.

“It does to me. Now answer, please,” Èowyn said sternly.

I sighed and looked down at my embroidery.

“I cannot be sure, but something about him feels…off. I feel as if I am staring at dark thunderclouds on the horizon when I look at him,” I said, choosing my words with care. 

Èowyn hummed low in agreement and fell into silence. 

“We will have to remain vigilant, then, lest the storm destroy what we have sown,” Èomer mused, his eyes looking out of the window and to the plains beyond.

“Yes, my lord,” I agreed, returning to my sewing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pronunciation Guide:  
> Braedia -- br-EYE-dee-uh  
> Gestande -- gus-STAHN-day (it almost sounds like Gaston from the Disney movie, but the emphasis is on the second syllable instead of the first)  
> Narmírë -- nar (rhymes with bar)-MERE (rhymes with ear)-ee


	8. Chapter 8

The days passed quickly. My mornings were filled with my lessons and horse training, and my afternoons were spent by Èowyn's side. Èomer was having me practice in the large paddock close to Meduseld, riding Gestande as I learned the basics. He was patient with me, despite my inability to keep my elbows tucked in when I specifically wasn’t concentrating on doing so. 

Aldgar kept me involved with Narmírë’s training as much as he could. She had more spirit than he had originally thought, but it never showed itself in any dangerous way. She tended to trot with more bounce than Aldgar said was needed, almost like she was dancing from step to step. He wanted her to move more smoothly, but I could not help but laugh whenever she pranced around. 

I found myself spending more time in the stables as the summer went on. The air in Meduseld became oppressive, and it had nothing to do with the summer’s heat. Gríma was working his way into as many facets of the king’s life as he could manage. He would join us at every meal, and he had Théoden locked away in his study more often than not. Théoden sent Théodred out in his stead to tour the kingdom, and though it was never said, we all knew that it was Gríma’s idea. 

As summer turned to autumn, Èomer left for Alburg to see to the harvest, and my heart was heavy to see him go. But my feelings were nothing to that of Èowyn’s. I had overheard her begging her brother to send his senior captain, Elfhelm, to Alburg, for she needed Èomer to stay in Edoras. She did not explain her reason to Èomer, but I knew why she feared to have her brother out of the city. 

Shortly after Gríma’s arrival, Èowyn increasingly asked me to remain by her side. I did not mind, as I found Èowyn to be pleasant company. She even began to join me in lessons and took us out for longer and longer rides. It did not take me long to find the cause. She wanted to be out from under the two-colored gaze of the king’s shadow. His eyes followed her every movement, and he always seemed to appear wherever Èowyn sought refuge. 

When Èomer did not return for the harvest festival or the mid-winter celebration, I began to worry. Èowyn assured me that she received word through Théodred that Èomer was merely detained by snows that had made leaving the keep impossible. He did not return to Edoras until well into spring, and I could see the weariness melt away, along with the deep wrinkles of worry to find his sister safe and sound. 

As another year made a turn, Meduseld began to fill with a strange, stale air. Théoden often slept late, and only ever attended to matters of great concern in the great hall. He handled his affairs from his chambers, and inexplicably let Gríma attend to needs of the citizens of Edoras. The few times I saw Théoden that year, I noticed a weariness to him that seemed to bow his shoulders and still his words. He seemed greyer, somehow aging years in a few short months. His voice grew weaker, hoarser, and he barely had enough strength to give a short toast at that year’s harvest festival before returning to his chambers. 

Èomer made a point to remain in Edoras for the winter, but the tension and weariness that was claiming Théoden seemed to be infecting all that inhabited Meduseld. Servants that were in the prime of their lives when I had first come to Meduseld were being sent away—under Gríma’s orders, of course—and strangers were replacing them. I spent many dark evenings with Èomer, Èowyn, and Théodred, trying to puzzle out what was happening to their city, and to the king. Èomer and Théodred often argued, more fiercely than I had ever witnessed, over things that seemed to be no more than rumor or suspicion. Èowyn always managed to bring them to their senses, but I knew that the fighting would only end when the source was expelled from Meduseld. 

Spring came, and Théodred and Èomer were called away from Edoras more than ever. The Orcs were growing bolder, and a city that had been so full of life and people began to wither as quickly as its king. The _éoreds_ were away longer than ever before, and hardly a day went by that men were not returning to the city on the backs of their shields. Èowyn was glad for my company on her rides, and we strayed outside of the wall with more frequency than before. I knew that she feared for her brother and her cousin, but she hated to be left with no part to play. We took up our sparring again, this time practicing on horseback as well as in Èowyn’s study. We would often spend nights by the fire under the pretense that we were sewing, but she always looked off out of her window, her mind lost in thought. 

Another year came and went, and my horse-riding skills improved vastly. Narmírë had finally been saddle broken, and I was able to ride her by summer. The first time I mounted her, it felt like I had been riding a bale of hay for three years. She responded to my slightest touch, seeming to obey my thoughts rather than my hands or knees. She still tended to show off, but she would quickly fall into line at a word. The first time we galloped through the grass outside of Edoras, I finally understood what Èowyn meant when she talked about flying. 

Unfortunately, I was unable to show Èomer my improvements because I barely saw him. He rarely came to Edoras himself, more often sending messengers from the field or Alburg to give reports. He often wrote to Èowyn, and once she informed him with her typical subtlety that I knew how to read, he always slipped a note for me into the envelope. They were short messages, usually ending with some sort of teasing remark about keeping my elbows down, or any of the other mistakes I had made in my riding. I was not aware of how much his friendship had meant to me until his presence was removed from my life. I hadn't even felt the addition to my life that all of the royal family made, even Théodred with whom I was never very close, until it was gone.

Meals with Théoden had been put on hold indefinitely, because he was starting to grow weak. There was something unnatural with the pace that the king had aged. It felt like only a few weeks ago, he was young with only a touch of grey to his hair. But now, he rarely walked, and it was only to his throne and back to his chambers. He was wasting away before my eyes, but there was nothing I could do about it. If Gríma had his way, I would have been banned from being near the royals all together, but Èowyn and Théodred had stood strong against that. I was glad they felt so strongly for me, and it made me feel more at home in Meduseld than I ever had felt in the White Tower.

Whenever I allowed my mind to wander, it rarely if ever went back to Minas Tirith. I found that my thoughts always wandered to Èomer, and what he was doing. Days with him were precious to me, and days without him were always heavy. I knew that my heart would always belong to another, but I could not deny the effect that his attentions were having on me.

Another year came and went, and things only grew from bad to worse. Gríma rarely left the king's side, and Théoden was now withering away to nothing. He relied on Gríma for everything, and it felt wrong, but there was very little I could do about it. Gríma also began to show special attention to Èowyn, often attempting to order me away, but his attempts were thwarted by the lady. Even if she rarely acted the lady, she knew every courtly trick of propriety to prevent Gríma from trapping her into even a moment alone. 

It was during the winter that he finally succeeded in pulling me away from Èowyn, at least as much as he could. Gríma somehow managed to trick the king into assigning me additional duties that I would have to complete during the day when my time would have otherwise been spent in leisure activities with Èowyn. He assigned me to a horrible washerwoman (a new addition since Gríma’s arrival), and she worked me as hard as she could whenever I was forced to be under her rule. I was only allowed to attend to Èowyn when she had real need of me, or so said Gríma. Thankfully, Èowyn managed to find plenty of urgent needs, and if I just so happened to wander off when she sent me on an errand, then it was all the better. As Èowyn told me once, she would rather I be no one’s slave if I could not be her lady-in-waiting. 

Gríma then started bringing in more men of his own to guard Meduseld, and these men made me nervous. Within the first year of Gríma’s appointment, a few men were in the Golden Hall at Gríma's request but I always felt safe because Èomer and Théodred were there to make sure that it was known that I had their protection. But now that Èomer and Théodred rarely graced the Golden Hall, the lecherous stares made me walk a little bit faster away from them.

Luckily, they rarely went into the stables, which was where I often found sanctuary. Narmírë was spoiled with my attention during this time, which she appreciated. I had grown to love and adore her more over the years, and she felt comfortable around me often enough to let me take short naps with her in her stall. But as winter faded and spring began again, I did not have the same sense of joy that I usually had with the coming of the warmer climates. I only felt dread and despair in my heart. I only prayed to the Valar that matters would take a turn for the better.

________________________________________

I woke up one morning during early spring and the air had a chilly bite to it. I knew that my ride with Èowyn today would be a cold one. I got out of bed and splashed some water from my basin into my face to help wake me up. My dreams last night had been haunted by strange images. I closed my eyes briefly, and I felt the pain from my dream wash over me.

_Boromir stood in a clearing of a wood. There were two people, they looked almost like children, standing near him. Orcs were surrounding him from all sides, but Boromir fought like a hero. He wielded his sword and protected those two little ones from harm. But then his body was pierced by an arrow. Boromir gasped and the two looked on in horror. But Boromir raised himself from his pain and continued to slay the evil creatures around him. But then he was struck by another arrow and then another. His horn was cloven in two and Boromir fell to his knees. An Orc, larger and more terrifying than any of the others, stood before him and drew back a final arrow. Boromir looked up at the creature, gasping against death that he surely felt creeping upon him._

I shook myself out of my waking dream and plaited my hair carefully. I chose to pay no heed to these images. They were only dreams, after all. I slid on a dress, for Èowyn was teaching me how to ride side-saddle. It was a simple brown dress, unlike the other slightly more ornate clothes that I was given. I met Èowyn out in the stable and quickly saddled our horses. The air smelled clean. It had rained during the night, cleansing the land.

Èowyn and I quickly made our way to the opening by which we left the city for the plains surrounding it. The path descending the hill was tricky, and it had made both myself and Narmírë nervous the first time we had taken it. But now, we traversed it easily. When Èowyn and I reached the plains, she broke out into a gallop, but I stayed behind at a quick canter. I felt perfectly comfortable galloping when I sat astride a horse, but sitting side-saddle gave me an unease that prevented me from riding as hard as Èowyn did. She did eventually slow and I was able to catch up with her. The sun had risen, and it dried the earth. I breathed deep, enjoying the scent in my nose. I stood beside Èowyn as she looked out over the plains.

“What do you think that is?” she asked me, looking out toward the horizon.

I looked in the direction she had indicated, and I saw that there was a block of dark color moving quickly toward the city. I could see the occasional flash of metal when the sun glinted off of it, and the motion of the group suggested horses.

“Riders, my lady. I can see green and white banners,” I said, and I felt Narmírë shifting eagerly under me. She could smell her fellows from this distance, as the breeze blew from their direction.

“Do you think it would be Théodred's or Èomer's company?” Èowyn teased gently.

“Either would be a comfort. The halls are so dark without their laughter,” I said with a longing sigh.

“Come, let us ride out and meet them,” Èowyn said, pushing her horse forward into a fast canter.

I pushed Narmírë to keep pace, but I felt something rising in my stomach. It was a sense of dread that I couldn't fight. The company was smaller than either of theirs, and they rode with much haste. Even when Èomer had been gone for months on end, he never rode with this much speed to get back to Edoras.

As Èowyn and I drew closer to the group, I could begin to see that many horses bore more than one rider, including the lead horse. I could feel my heart beating in my throat. I pushed Narmírë to go faster, and she quickly left Èowyn behind. I reached the group and I could not help but let out a gasp. Èomer was leading the company, and Théodred rode in front of him. I quickly joined Èomer at the head of the column, and I wanted to ask Èomer what had happened, but I was trying to concentrate on not losing my seat and keeping pace with the group. Èowyn fell in next to us, and we rode quickly and silently with the warriors back into the city. Once we were passed the gates, Èowyn turned to her brother.

“Take him to the healers right away. He needs medical attention. Then you are to tell me all that has happened. Braedia, can you take care of our horses?” she said sternly, turning to me at the end.

“Of course, my lady. I will follow you as soon as they are stabled,” I replied quickly.

“We can only hope that it is not too late,” Èowyn said.

We reached the steps to the hall and we all dismounted swiftly. Èowyn helped me lead the horses to the stable as Èomer carried Théodred up to the Golden Hall. Èowyn rushed away after giving her horse to a stable hand. I tried to follow my orders, but my hands were shaking too much to undo the buckles of the saddles effectively. A hand was placed over mine from behind and I looked to see one of Èomer's fellows.

“Go to them,” he said simply.

I felt the tears that I had been holding back slide down my face as I gave him a nod of appreciation. I gathered my voluminous skirts and ran from the stables to the Golden Hall. I could hear commotion near Théodred's chambers, so I strode swiftly toward the hall that led to them. But I was stopped in my tracks as Gríma stepped out from behind a pillar between me and the door.

“Move, snake. I was bid to come by Lady Èowyn and Lord Èomer,” I snapped venomously. I was in no mood to deal with his tricks today.

“Leave the royals to take care of their own. Surely there is something you could do in the kitchens,” Gríma said, his voice almost gentle.

I glared at him and I could feel my blood boil. But thankfully, someone called my name from behind him before I had a chance to strangle the life from him. I looked and saw that Èomer was beckoning me to come to him. I glared at Gríma once more before hurrying to Èomer.

“Èowyn is sitting with Théodred now,” Èomer said as he led me away from the main hall.

“What happened, Èomer? I cannot bear this suspense,” I said almost desperately.

We had stopped in a narrow hallway a short distance away from Théodred's chamber. We were not in the way, but I had a clear view of the doorway where everyone was rushing in and out of. I looked back down the hall now, and Èomer sighed.

“Théodred's éored was sent to the River Isen to see to a village that was under attack. I was bid not to follow, despite Théodred's numbers being few. I could not shake the unease from my mind, so I disobeyed orders and followed Théodred a day later. I arrived at the Fords of Isen and found that a great massacre had occurred. None survived, Orc or man. It was lucky that we found Théodred alive,” Èomer said, his words coming out slowly but angrily.

“Where do these Orcs keep coming from? Surely not from Mordor,” I whispered angrily.

“No, these Orcs were not of Mordor. They all bore the white hand of Saruman,” Èomer spat, as if each word would poison him if they were left in his mouth.

I narrowed my eyes as I looked down the hallway. I could see Gríma standing in the archway that connected the hallway to the Great Hall. He was watching the goings-on around Théodred's room, so I was unsure if he could see Èomer and me.

“I wish to talk where there will not be ears to overhear us,” I whispered to Èomer.

He looked down at me, and I then realized how close we were. Èomer nodded and took my hand. He was still wearing his gauntlets, so it was a little clumsy. He led me down a separate hall and glanced around before we entered a door. I looked around and I realized that we were in Èomer's chambers.


	9. Chapter 9

Èomer closed the doors to his chambers behind us and walked over to the fireplace. He leaned heavily with one arm on the mantle. The room was similar to Èowyn’s chambers, but there were a few differences that made the space distinctly Èomer. There was a rich tapestry hanging on one wall, depicting a cavalry charge in vivid detail. There was a mannequin in one corner, but the armor that normally hung there was being worn by the man at the mantle. 

I took a few tentative steps forward, clasping my hands in front of me. “I have done what you asked of me, my lord,” I said softly, closing my eyes.  
________________________________________  
 _Èomer stood next to his stall, saddling his horse. He was to be sent out on scouting campaigns through the winter, and would not return until spring, or so said the official orders. He had bid me come to help him, although I was unsure as to why. I knew that he did not need help with his horse. When he was all but ready to depart, he turned to me. We had not spoken since I had arrived, but I knew better than to push Èomer to speech when he did not wish it._

_“I have a favor to ask of you, Braedia,” he said at last._

_I nodded, bidding him to go on. He gently grabbed my upper arm and pulled me close to him._

_“You are woven deeply into the fabric of Meduseld now. People trust you, and they will tell you things that they may not tell others. Please keep a weather eye and a keen ear out for anything strange and plan to give me a full report upon my return,” he said softly into my ear._

_I could feel that he was glancing around behind me, watching for enemies._

_“Of course, my lord,” I whispered back._

_He released me and mounted his horse. I stood aside and looked up at him. “I trust you. Do not disappoint me,” he said with a playful smirk._

_“I wouldn't dream of disappointing you. I will show you how much my jumping improves upon your return,” I said with a sly wink._

_He winked back, and then spurred his horse into a gallop out of the stable._  
________________________________________  
“What have you heard?” Èomer asked, now keenly interested.

“The servants hear many things, and you were right to think that they trusted me. The men that Gríma has brought are Northerners. From where they hail, I cannot say exactly, but I know that they are not loyal to Rohan. I fear they may be men of Dunland,” I said, speaking quickly.

“I thought as much. Have you heard anything new relating to whatever it is that Gríma has been doing to the king?” Èomer asked.

I shook my head. “I asked everyone. I asked the cooks if Gríma requests anything special for the king, but they knew of nothing. I asked the healers if they were bid to make any special brews, but they knew of nothing. Whatever that worm is doing to Théoden King is not natural,” I said, my voice soft but intense.

Èomer sighed and started pacing. He was muttering angrily to himself.

I took a deep breath before continuing. “Gríma’s obsession with Lady Èowyn grows with each passing day. He tries to isolate her, to make her vulnerable to his…influence. I worry that if Gríma succeeds in bringing Théoden King to an early grave, he may try to bind Èowyn,” I said softly.

Èomer stopped pacing and looked at me. “Bind her? In what way?” he questioned, his tone just soft enough to hide the anger I could see building in his eyes.

I swallowed the fear his gaze brought out in me, even though his anger was not meant for me. “In marriage, my lord,” I whispered.

As the words slipped from my lips, I knew that the only thing that kept Èomer from throwing things at the wall was knowing that I was in the room to witness his rage. He did, however, start pacing again, muttering under his breath in rapid Rohirric. I only caught parts of his oaths, but it was enough to know that he would have never said those things aloud in the presence of a woman.

“I have tried to make myself as much of a distraction as possible,” I offered, trying to soothe him.

His fierce gaze turned to me, and now I saw the hint of concern in his frown.

“Not in the way you are thinking, my lord. I have not made my attempts to gather information go unnoticed, and I have been letting rumors fly as they will. Gríma knows that I know he is behind the king’s poor health. If he thinks that I am up to something, and spends his time trying to get to the bottom of it, then I say let him. If he sends his men to shadow my steps, those are fewer that can haunt your sister. I have done nothing wrong, and he knows that. And he knows that he cannot risk moving against me when the beloved White Lady of Meduseld holds me so dear,” I said, my mouth curving into a matter-of-fact smirk

Èomer looked at me, and his anger drained, leaving amused admiration in its wake. “That is…clever. Extremely dangerous, and going above what I asked of you, but clever,” Èomer said after a moment.

I gave a small nod. “It was the least I could do, my lord. Your sister has always been so good to me,” I said, brushing it off.

Èomer paused, and then a small smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. “My lord? Not Èomer?” he asked, false innocence coating his teasing remark. 

I flushed a dark red. I had hoped that he would have missed my lapse, but of course, I was never that fortunate. “I apologize, my lord. I forgot myself,” I said lowly, dropping my gaze. 

“No need to apologize. We have been friends long enough for you to use my given name,” Èomer said lightly. 

I looked up and he was looking at me with an intense gaze. There was no longer any anger there, but I could not discern what it was that I saw in his eyes. 

“As you wish, my—Èomer,” I assented, catching myself as he gave me a chastising look.

Èomer nodded with satisfaction, and then he sighed. “I must confront my uncle. Perhaps he has enough mind to know that his son is injured, and the time has come to stand up to this threat,” Èomer said, the embers of anger flaring once again. 

He started to walk out of the room, but I grabbed his arm as he passed me. He looked down, his gaze softening as he saw the concern in my eyes.

“You have been gone a long while, and your uncle has been greatly weakened over these many weeks. He may not recognize you. Please, just remember that as you speak with him,” I said near a whisper, my grip tight on his arm.

“I know, but I need to face this problem, regardless of the consequences,” Èomer said strongly.

I looked deep into his eyes, and I saw his conviction. I nodded and let him go. We walked out of the room. I went to Théodred's room with Èomer and I saw that Èowyn was sitting on the edge of his bed, the front of her dress stained with blood. Èomer went to her, and I could see the intense connection they shared in their glance. I stayed by the door and watched as Èomer muttered something to her. She looked at Théodred and after a moment, nodded. She stood and Èomer bent down to pick something up. They both walked to me by the door.

“Come with us. We need your support in this,” Èowyn said, taking my hand in hers.

It was slick with blood, and I could see the fatigue in her eyes. Her face was pale, but there were little flecks of blood on it and the tips of her hair were red with blood. She was in need of a good cleaning. I gently reached up and moved a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. I nodded and Èomer led the way to the throne where Théoden sat. Èowyn looked at me and I gave her hand a squeeze. I stood a little behind Èomer as Èowyn knelt before her uncle briefly.

“Your son is badly wounded, my lord,” she said gravely, her voice trembling slightly.

She stood up and walked back to stand beside her brother. I looked at the king between them, and I was almost sickened by what he had become. He was little more than a shell for his mind, and even that lay dormant.

“He was ambushed by Orcs. If we do not defend our land, Saruman will take it by force,” Èomer said heatedly.

He was looking at his uncle as if willing the man to stand up and look back, but he received no such reply.

“That is a lie. Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally,” I heard a now-familiar slimy voice reply from the shadows.

Gríma stepped out of the shadow of a pillar and went to kneel by the king's side. The king mumbled the man's name feebly, and I could feel my anger boiling just beneath the surface of my skin. How could the king call for such a traitor as Gríma Wormtounge when his family stood before him, ready to defend him?

“Orcs are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked, unchallenged, killing at will. Orcs bearing the White Hand of Saruman,” Èomer said, dropping the thing he had been carrying at his uncle's feet.

I realized then that it was an Orc helmet with a white handprint painted on the top of it. It was proof of Saruman's treachery, but still, Théoden did nothing. I wanted to run up to the king and shake the old age off of him, but I stood behind Èowyn and Èomer, clenching and unclenching my fists slowly at my sides to control my anger.

“Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind? Can you not see? Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent…your warmongering,” Gríma muttered to Èomer.

“Warmongering?” Èomer questioned with one humorless chuckle.

“Braedia, take my sister to her chambers,” he snapped at me, his gaze not moving from Gríma.

“Yes, my lord,” I said quickly.

I grabbed Èowyn by the hand and tried to drag her away, but Èowyn just merely walked a few steps and stopped. We looked back and saw that Èomer had grabbed Gríma bodily and had him pinned against the pillar. He was muttering to him, but the words were too low for us to understand. Then we saw Gríma look over Èomer’s shoulder to us, and Èomer looked behind him. I pulled Èowyn away quickly, sensing the violence that might erupt.

As we passed, some of Gríma's men moved toward the pair. I managed to get Èowyn down the steps to the bathhouses before a noise from the Great Hall caught my attention. I moved back, but my feet froze in the archway, and I could only watch as Gríma’s men grabbed Èomer. I gasped as he tried to fight against them, and was punched in the stomach.

“You see much, Èomer son of Eomund. Too much,” Gríma said loudly.

Èomer was struggling to free himself, and I wanted to run to him, to help him. But my mind was tumbling, and I could not uproot my feet from the stone below them.

“You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Rohan and all its domains under pain of death,” Gríma said, his voice full of false pride.

I felt my breath leave me as if one of those false guards had punched me in the gut. How could Èomer be banished? How could a king banish his nephew?

“You have no authority over me. Your orders mean nothing,” Èomer snarled, still struggling.

“But this order does not come from me. It comes from the king. He signed it this morning,” Gríma said, his tone gleeful.

He held up a document that unmistakably held the signature of the king. Èomer roared but was dragged away from the room by the guards. He was dragged from the Golden Hall and out into Edoras through the front doors. The gears in my mind seemed to come unstuck at long last, as they disappeared from the hall. Not thinking, I gathered my skirts and ran after him.

“Do not go after him,” a voice called out to me.

I stopped and turned. Gríma was standing with his hands behind his back in front of the king, completely blocking him from my view. I narrowed my eyes and glared at him.

“Try to stop me,” I said, my tone low and dangerous.

“He is a traitor, and if you go to him, it may cause some to question your loyalty to Rohan,” Gríma said, drawing himself to his full height. 

“There is only one traitor among the Rohirrim here. Question my loyalty again, and we shall see if the traitor’s blood runs as green as the poison dripping from his tongue,” I barked, and felt smug satisfaction as his slimy face fell and paled.

I turned and quickly ran after the group still moving to the stable. I pushed through the crowd that was gathering at the sound of the commotion and found that the guards were surrounding Èomer at Firefoot’s stall. They were making sure that Èomer was not delaying in taking his leave. As I approached, two guards stepped forward, placing themselves between me and Èomer. 

“Let me through, you swine. I demand to see Lord Èomer,” I shouted at them.

“He has been banished from these lands; none can see him,” the larger of the two men said.

He was uglier than any man I had ever seen in my life and smelled worse than an Orc corpse. I breathed a deep breath in, my chest swelling with indignation.

“Move aside, vermin. I will not be barred by the likes of rats that scavenge from the Golden Hall,” I commanded, my eyes flashing with anger.

“Are you deaf? We said no. Now run along, girl, before we have to make you,” the smaller man said, his hand moving to a dagger on his belt.

I felt the pure rage boiling up to the surface. I opened my mouth to let him have a good tongue lashing, but something cleared their throat behind the man, drawing my attention. It was Èomer, leading his horse toward us.

“Move aside, men. She will not delay me long,” Èomer's said.

They looked between Èomer and me as if deciding if Èomer still had the authority to give orders. Èomer looked at them sternly, and they eyed the heavy sword that was at his side. Eventually, after several moments of tense silence, they moved and allowed Èomer through.

“Walk me to the gate,” Èomer said softly.

I nodded and fell into step beside him. The guards moved to walk behind us. Èomer took my hand and pulled me as close to his side as he could

“Please keep watch on Èowyn for me,” he whispered in my ear.

“Of course. I will not abandon her,” I said quickly. I knew that our words would be few, so I wanted to make the most of them.

“Can I ask something else of you?” Èomer asked.

I looked up at him, bidding him to go on.

“I have a feeling in my heart that I will be coming back to Edoras. Whether that will be on the back of a horse or on the back of my shield, I cannot yet tell. But I will be coming back. I know that even this darkness must pass. I know that I cannot expect this of you, but I ask you to not give your heart away until I return,” Èomer asked.

We had reached the gate, and we stopped. I stared up at him, completely dumbfounded. He was asking me to wait for him? He, the king's nephew, was asking me, his sister's servant, to wait for him to return so that he might have my heart? Was he admitting that he was in love with me?

“Please speak quickly. The guards grow restless,” Èomer said softly.

He gently took one of my upper arms and pulled my ear to his lips.

“What say you?” he asked.

His breath was hot in my ear, and my mind was sent to tumbling again. I opened and closed my mouth several times, little squeaks coming instead of words.

“I cannot promise you my heart, because I gave it to another before and I have yet to receive it back,” I said, the words coming out of my mouth before I had a chance to check them. 

I never wished for anything more than to be able to return those words to my mouth as Èomer pulled away and looked at me with confusion and something that looked akin to anger in his eyes.

“One of Gondor?” Èomer asked, his tone a little bitter.

“Yes,” I whispered, realizing that the damage was done, so there was no use in trying to lie. I could feel my eyes burning, and my heart was slamming against the inside of my chest, as if trying to break free and jump into his hands.

“Then this is good-bye. I hope you are reunited with the one who holds your heart so dearly, whether in this life or the next,” Èomer said.

He kissed my cheek swiftly and pulled away. I could only stand there, stunned as he mounted his horse and rode away from Edoras without a glance back. I could feel the tears slipping down my cheeks, and my fingers brushed against the burning skin where his lips had been moments ago. What had I done?


	10. Chapter 10

I made my way back up to the Golden Hall trying to control my tears. But the look on Èomer’s face as he turned from me appeared behind my lids every time I closed my eyes. There was a dull ache in my chest, and my stomach felt like a lead weight in my gut. I managed to stem the flow from my eyes as I mounted the steps to the Golden Hall, but I kept my head down and avoided the gaze of the guards as I passed them.

When I entered the great hall, I found that Théoden had been removed from his throne, so I made my way to Èowyn's chambers. She had not returned from her bath, so I moved around the lady's room, tidying up the relatively neat room. I gathered dresses that needed to be laundered and set them in a basket. I straightened the few wooden horses that were above the mantle, but I soon ran out of tasks. I sat in a chair near her fire, stirring it back to life with a poker. I slumped in the chair, rubbing at the ache that had settled in my chest. I stared at the fire, fighting tears again. 

I was pulled from my mind as the door opened, and Èowyn came back into the room. She was dressed in a soft blue robe, her hair still slightly damp, but no longer bloodstained. Her face was pulled tight, but she relaxed upon seeing me. She came to sit down in the chair opposite me, and I sat a little straighter in my own seat. We were silent for a long moment, just lost in our own thoughts. 

“So, he has been banished,” Èowyn whispered into the silence.

I jumped slightly at the sound but gave a nod. I did not know if I could speak without crying right now. 

“I knew that this would come to pass, but I did not think it would happen this soon,” Èowyn mused. 

I looked up at her, my brow wrinkled with confusion. 

“My uncle…he may not last another year, and with Théodred now…if Èomer was to remain in Rohan, he would be next in line to assume the throne. But if he was banished as a traitor…” Èowyn’s voice trailed away, her voice growing thin as tears of her own threatened to spill over.

“He will return,” I whispered, unsure to which man I was referring. 

“But will it be too late?” Èowyn asked, her voice breaking. 

I looked to her face. A tear had slipped past its bound and ran over her pale cheek. She did not move to wipe it away, nor did she sob. Her face was drawn, her jaw clenched. She was staring into the fire, and I could see clouds of despair beginning to form in her eyes. I swallowed and returned my gaze to the fire. I found that I had no answer. 

“You went after my brother,” she said after a few moments of silence.

It was less of a question than a statement, so I chose not to respond.

“Why?” she asked.

I sighed, closing my eyes. “I'm still not entirely sure,” I said sadly.

“Did he say anything to you?” she asked, her voice a drawn.

I sighed again, debating on whether I wanted her to know what was exchanged between Èomer and I. Whether I wanted her to know that I thought I broke her brother’s heart.

“Please tell me. I want to know what my brother said,” she pushed after a moment.

“He asked me to look after you, which I promised that I would continue to do,” I said, deciding on a partial truth rather than a full lie.

“Anything else?” Èowyn asked, her voice a little more forceful.

I felt a lump rising in my throat again, shame rising with it. It was one thing to think over what I had done but saying it aloud would make it real. And it could drive away the one friend I had left in Rohan. My eyes burned, and my hand came up to cover my mouth lightly. The ache grew in my chest, pulsing with my heartbeat. 

“He asked me to save my heart for him,” I said, my voice choked by tears.

“He asked you what?” Èowyn asked shocked.

“He said that he wasn't sure if he would return to Edoras alive or dead, but he asked me not to give away my heart until he returned,” I said, speaking through my tears.

I had not cried like this since the days right after my banishment from Gondor when I felt that my despair would consume my soul. I put my hands to my face, trying in vain to hide my tears. It took all of my willpower to keep from wailing, taking breaths in an attempt to calm myself. I bent over and pressed my face to my knees. To my surprise, I felt a soft hand rest on my upper back. 

“And what did you say?” Èowyn asked, sounding very concerned now.

“I told him I could not save my heart, as I had given it away long ago,” I groaned into my knees.

My tears were ebbing, but I could still feel the shame heavy in my stomach. Èowyn was gently rubbing my back, and it helped to soothe my tears. I eventually sat up and she moved back to her chair. Her face was drawn into a frown, and her eyes were lost in thought. I wiped away some of the tears that lingered on my face, and then looked at my hands in my lap.

“You had a lover in Gondor?” Èowyn asked, her curiosity finally getting the better of her.

I gave a humorless chuckle and blushed. “We never…well, we never…” I stammered, my facing growing warm at the thought.

“But you had a man courting you?” Èowyn asked, rolling her eyes.

I nodded, a fond smile creeping up to my face as I remembered him. 

“Who was he?” Èowyn asked, leaning forward in her seat toward me.

I sighed, and I felt my regret rising. I had promised that I would never lie to the royals again, but I did not want Èowyn to lose respect for me when she found out the truth of my past. But as I looked at her, I did not see judgment in her eyes, only concern, and genuine interest.

“If I tell you this, you have to promise me that you will not reveal this secret to anyone,” I said seriously.

She looked a little surprised at my tone, but she nodded all the same. I took a deep breath, and then I looked at my hands in my lap.

“I was in love with the son of the Steward, Boromir,” I said slowly.

I looked up at Èowyn and saw the wide-eyed surprise written across her face. She took a moment to consider this before looking back to me. 

“Did he return your affections?” Èowyn said softly, as if she suspected someone was listening in on our conversation.

“Most adamantly. He wanted to marry me,” I said, my voice growing warm at the memories.

“How did it all begin? Tell me everything,” Èowyn said, pulling her chair a little closer to me, and taking my hands. 

The dull ache in my chest eased a little at her touch. “It is a long story,” I said, shaking my head a little.

“I wish to hear it all, even if that means not sleeping tonight. I suspect that neither of us would get much sleep tonight regardless,” Èowyn said, her voice falling a little.

I sighed and looked at her. She had that stubborn look in her eyes, and I knew that I had started this conversation, so I must end it. And perhaps my tragedy would help to distract her from the grief. I took another deep breath and cast my gaze back into the fire. I had kept this door closed so firmly for so long, it took some effort for me to pull the memories out from their darkened corner. Èowyn waited patiently, letting me have my time.

“As I've told you before, my mother was the nursemaid to both Boromir and Faramir when the time came. She practically raised the boys, especially after their mother died. I was raised alongside them, despite being only a servant's daughter. They were my brothers, if not by blood. We did everything together. We learned our letters together, our manners, our history. The boys would not let me far from their side when we were children. As we aged, they began their lessons in the art of combat, and Boromir begged my father to teach me as well, not wanting to leave me behind. When my father passed, Boromir’s new teacher did not allow me to continue formal training, but Boromir liked to show off, especially when he was a foolish youth. 

“Eventually, the sibling affections between us seemed to melt into something deeper. I didn’t know it at first, but Boromir spent more time with me than anyone other than his brother. He took me for walks, bought me little trinkets. I knew that he was special to me, but I believed he was just being kind. I did not allow myself to think he would ever consider me. I do not know when I first thought of him more as a…man than a brother, but he made his feelings know to me in the summer of my twentieth year.”

________________________________________

_We had snuck away from the festivities of the Mid-Summer Celebration. I laughed as Boromir pulled me by my hand through the dark alleys of Minas Tirith. We had given Faramir the slip at the tavern. I could feel the wine starting to go to my head, my body feeling light and heavy at the same time. Shame on Boromir for getting me to drink too much. But we eventually ran out of breath from running and laughing so much and stopped in the shadowed alley in a village I couldn't quite recognize. The space was quite small, so we were forced to stand quite close together._

_“I hope Faramir knows how to talk as well as he writes or reads,” Boromir laughed, gently teasing his brother's more academic mind._

_“He's going to have to if he's going to get away from Helga. She was quite insulted by his not returning her affections,” I said, laughing at the situation that Faramir had gotten himself into._

_Boromir’s laughter died, and his face became suddenly very serious. He was looking down at me as my laughter died, and I gave him a curious look in return._

_“There are many that do not return another's affections, despite those affections being displayed quite boldly,” Boromir said, his voice husky in my ear._

_I looked up at him questioning, and his eyes were glinting strangely in the light from the lanterns. I could see his lips moving toward mine in slow motion, and it almost felt like a dream when their velvet-soft surface touched mine. After the initial touch, we pulled away and looked at each other, quite struck dumb with the action. But then he grabbed the back of my head and pulled his lips to mine for a much more passionate kiss._

________________________________________

“After that day, we often snuck off together and shared affections in shadowed corners in secret. It was never anything more than a stolen kiss and a few words before we had to part. He was being called more often to meetings with captains as his father began to groom him for command. And I was a maid with my own duties. But those moments…I found myself counting the minutes apart, daydreaming like the lovestruck maid I was. I lived for those stolen minutes, holding them dearer than any jewel from beneath the earth.”

________________________________________

_“Boromir. Quiet, or we will be discovered,” I said, my voice coming out as gasps as Boromir kissed the tender spots on my neck._

_He pulled away and the intensity of his gaze made my breath catch in my throat. His hands gripped my hips tighter._

_“Then let them find us. I would proclaim our love for all of Gondor to hear this very moment and take you as my wife before the sun fell below the horizon,” Boromir said, his voice rough with passion._

_He came back up and claimed my lips in another passionate kiss._

_“I cannot risk that, my love. You know what your father would do to me if he were to find us out,” I said, my mood completely soured by the thought._

_I pushed Boromir away slightly and forced him to look at me. He stared for a long moment, and then pulled me tight to his chest in an embrace._

_“I will never let him take you from me. And one day, when I am Steward and he no longer holds sway over us, I will declare my love for you, and no one will ever keep us apart again,” Boromir said somberly._

_I smiled in his tunic, lingering in his arms, letting the world and its troubles fall away, leaving only Boromir and our love behind._

________________________________________

“We continued to meet in secret for many months, and I knew that we were taking bigger and bigger risks with each meeting. His brother, Faramir, had helped to provide support for Boromir when his absence was questioned. My mother passed during our secret courtship, and even though I thought she knew nothing of our bond, her final words to Boromir were her blessing on our union. 

“Boromir’s wish to bring our love into the light only increased as the Shadow grew in the East. He was being pressured into betrothal by his father, and he was growing more suspicious the longer Boromir refused to take a bride. I knew that Lord Denethor wanted his heir to marry before open war was declared, and maybe even get a bride with child. But even the fairest princess seemed to hold no interest for my Boromir,” I said, a sad, ironic chuckle escaping my throat.

I stopped, my fist clenching at the memories. I pushed those aside, refusing to think of _her_. I would not allow her to follow me into Rohan, not when I had taken such thorough steps to purge her from my mind. Èowyn squeezed my hands, looked at me expectantly.

“What happened then?” she asked when I was silent.

“The inevitable,” I said, my voice shaking as I remembered it.

________________________________________

_Boromir and I stood in his chambers. He was dressed in full armor. He was to be sent out to help defend his country, to provide support to the troops in Osgiliath. It was what he had been planning to do with this life, but I couldn't help but fear for him. I had my arms around his neck and he had his arms around my waist, holding me close. His armor was cold, but I could endure that just to be near to him._

_“Please try to return to me. I know how eager you are to die in the field of battle,” I tried to tease him._

_My humor was belied by the tears streaming down my face. He did not remove his arms from my waist, determined to hold me as close as he could before he was called away. Instead, he kissed the tears as they fell down my cheeks. His beard and mustache were rough against my face, but not unpleasantly so._

_“I promise I will return to you. No Orc or Goblin will prevent me from returning to your arms,” he said grandly, a soft laugh undermining the seriousness of his oath._

_I could not help but chuckle at his laugh. Our lips met in another tender, urgent kiss, and I could feel all the emotions I felt for him rush through our connected lips. We pulled apart, and he put his forehead to mine._

_“I love you, Braedia,” he whispered to me._

_“I love you too, Boromir,” I whispered back with a smile._

_He kissed me again, and we let it linger, savoring these last moments. But then suddenly, the door to his chamber flew open. My eyes flew wide with horror as I saw Lord Denethor filling the frame, swelling with rage with each passing moment. We detangled our limbs and sprang away from each other quickly, but the damage was done. He had seen us. We had been discovered._

________________________________________

“So, then you were banished for loving the Steward's son? Where is the crime in that?” Èowyn asked heatedly.

“I was a distraction from his duties as Captain of Gondor. He had a duty to protect his home, to protect Gondor, and I was clouding his judgment. He had a duty to continue the Line of Stewards, and he would never be able to do so with a lowly, common, chambermaid, at least not legitimately. Some even went so far as to claim I was plotting for Boromir to force his father out of power before his time. Gondor is no stranger to usurpers and pretenders, commoners trying to grab power by whatever means necessary. No one ever stopped to think that perhaps Boromir’s love for me was true, and my desire was only for the man, and not his station,” I intoned with a shrug, the rumors that flew in my final days in Minas Tirith buzzing in my head like flies.

“But all you ever did was love him,” Èowyn said, still in disbelief.

I gave her a sad nod, and I looked back down into my lap. She had not released her hold on my hands and was clenching them tightly. I was surprised by the comfort I felt in the contact. We sat in silence for another long moment, except for the crackling fire.

“Where is Boromir now?” Èowyn asked.

I shrugged. “I did not give myself a chance to bid him farewell. He was fighting with his father, I imagine trying to overturn the judgment when I made my leave. I knew that if I lingered, even if only to say good-bye…” I said, feeling the familiar regret sweep through me.

“What if he had brought his father to his senses and you did not have to leave?” Èowyn asked.

I barked a hollow, humorless laugh. “The day that Lord Denethor admits he was wrong in any matter will be the day the true king of Gondor returns to claim the crown,” I scoffed.

Èowyn pursed her lips, not sure of my meaning, but understanding enough to not push the subject any further. 

“He must be very handsome,” Èowyn said with a little smirk. I laughed a little at this.

“Yes, he is. Both brothers are. Faramir was a little more delicate in his features than Boromir, but that came from spending his youth with his head in the books. Boromir had the brawn; Faramir had the brain,” I said with a little laugh.

“I do hope to meet them someday,” she said with a little longing sigh.

“Are you not betrothed?” I asked confused.

Most women of the court, at least in Gondor, were betrothed from the cradle, if not before then. Èowyn shook her head.

“When I was young, there was talk of my marrying Théodred. But we grew too close to consider it. It felt wrong, and my uncle won't make us marry someone we do not love,” Èowyn said with a smile.

I smiled a little back. Èowyn looked at me questioningly for a short time, but then shook her head slightly and looked away. I questioned her look and she sighed and looked back at me.

“I remember when you first came here. You barely looked off the floor long enough to reply to a direct question. And even then, you would never look at any of us directly, as if we hurt your eyes if you did. And you never smiled. And even if you did, it was a dead smile that never reached your eyes. Now we can carry a full conversation, and you smile more,” Èowyn said.

I looked thoughtfully at the fire for a moment. I nodded in her direction and then a thought struck me. I only really began to smile or laugh during my lessons with Èomer. Even as Edoras fell deeper into despair, my time with him in the stable was always full of joy. Èowyn seemed to read my thoughts in my eyes and gave my hand another squeeze.

“What are you going to do about him?” Èowyn asked after a moment.

I looked at her, my shame and heartache drawing the color from my face. “What would you have me do? I gave my heart away so completely to a man that I may never see again. Even if I find, in time, that I have a heart to give to your brother, after what I have done, would he still want it? And if he did, would I be no more than a passing fancy, a curiosity that will be abandoned once it is sated?” I asked with a defeated sigh.

Èowyn sighed as well, but the noise had a touch of annoyance. “Èomer does not indulge in passing fancies. For all his mischief, he has never played tricks with his heart, nor the heart of any maiden. It would please me greatly to truly call you my sister,” Èowyn said, matter of fact.

A blush rose in my cheeks at her implication. “But I could never marry your brother. I am not of noble birth,” I said in disbelief.

“I'm sure that my uncle could make an exception for his favorite nephew,” Èowyn said with a sly smirk.

I looked at her with a half scolding, half jesting look, and we laughed. Then Èowyn went silent and pensive. Her gaze drifted back to the fire, and the sadness that had been lurking returned.

“I wish to see to my cousin,” she said, her voice drawn.


	11. Chapter 11

I nodded at her request and stood. I dressed her in a simple gown, just so she would be decent when walking the halls. I trailed in her wake as we moved swiftly through the corridors. A silence seemed to have settled over Meduseld as if all of the residents did not dare to breathe. When we came to his room, the healers were still at work, washing his wounds. I averted my eyes as I saw his bare chest, but I had seen enough to know that his wounds were serious. Èomer had been right; they were lucky that he still clung to life long enough to return home.

One of the healers stood, wiping sweat from her brow and stretching her back. She caught sight of Èowyn and I standing in the door and came over to us. 

“My lady, there is no use in lingering here. He will be attended to,” she said, her elderly face painted with a kind smile, but the expression did not quite reach her eyes. 

Èowyn’s gaze had not moved from Théodred as the healer spoke, and I took her hand. It had gone cold, and I could see she had no color in her face. I waited for Èowyn to speak, but it seemed her whole body had frozen.

“You will send word the moment there is a change, for good or ill?” I asked the healer after a moment.

She gave a slow nod and I touched Èowyn’s arm, a comforting gesture that I was not sure Èowyn even noticed. 

“Come, my lady. Let us return to your chambers,” I said, pulling Èowyn back down the hall. 

She gave me a nod and allowed herself to be guided back to her chambers. 

The next two days were tense in the Golden Hall. I found that I was spending all of it by the fire with Èowyn. I would sometimes run to the kitchen to get us meals, but Èowyn hardly wanted me away from her side. She even pulled me into her bed to lay by her side as she slept. I went through the motions but found that no sleep would come for me. The few moments when I fell under were brief and were haunted by Èomer’s parting words.

Apprentice healers came to give news every few hours or so, but there was very little good news. Théodred’s bleeding had finally stopped. His wound was deep, but poison was not present. He had a fever, and it was not breaking. He had lost much blood, so it was just a matter of time before the body recovered. On the second day, Èowyn took a seat by her fireplace and refused to be moved, even when it was time to rest. We sat by the fire and tried to keep each other awake by telling stories, but those always ended with one of us in tears. I was glad for the distraction of Èowyn's grief so I did not have to face mine just yet. 

Now that I knew that Èomer had feelings for me, my mind and my heart were constantly at war. My mind knew that, so long as Denethor reigned, I would never see Boromir again. I had come to terms with this long before I had ever set foot in Edoras. But my heart still held firm to strands of fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, Boromir still loved me. But I began to wonder, did I still love him? I had felt Boromir slipping from my mind, his face becoming harder and harder to recall. My heart could remember Boromir’s declarations of love but could not recall the voice with which he said them. But even when I tried to recall him, the memories did not bring joy, only longing for a past that--my mind reminded me--would never return.

But--my mind would say--Èomer could return. If Théoden could be freed from his curse, then he could call Èomer back to Edoras. At the thought of Èomer’s return, my heart would twist and tighten. It would remind me that even if Èomer did return, the fragile friendship we had before would never be the same. I had crushed it with both hands and flung the dust into the wind. No man could ever look upon a woman as merely a friend once she had broken his heart. Had he come to hate me for not returning his feelings? Would he even wish to see me? Or would my face only cause him more pain? 

I did not speak any of this to Èowyn; her troubled mind was burdened enough without my worries. Whenever my mind and heart came into conflict, I would stare out of Èowyn’s window, looking out over the sea of grass beyond Edoras. It surprised me how easy it was to deflect Èowyn from my thoughts whenever she did ask what was on my mind. Perhaps it was because she wanted to be distracted, to think of anything but her dying cousin. Perhaps I wanted that, too. 

On the morning of the third day, I was waiting by Èowyn's fireplace for her to return from her bath. I encouraged her to try to bathe, to wash the weary feelings from her limbs. She agreed, but only after some convincing. But as I was waiting, an apprentice healer came running into the room. The young boy had tears streaming down his face, and I could see the heartbreak in his eyes. I stood, one hand to my chest.

“Is he…?” I asked, unable to finish my sentence.

The apprentice shook his head and looked down at his feet, his shoulders gently shaking from the sobs. I swallowed hard. I looked off to my side, my mind numb. I had known that it would take a miracle for Théodred to survive his wounds, but false hope had been better than no hope at all. 

“I will tell Lady Èowyn. You may go,” I said, my voice thick as I dismissed the boy.

He nodded and started to leave. “He's still in his chambers if the lady wants to say goodbye,” he said, trying to put on a brave face.

“Good lad. Thank you,” I said with a kind smile.

The boy nodded and left. I turned away from the door and tried to regain my composure. I needed to be strong for Èowyn. Théodred had been as much of a brother to her as Èomer, and losing him now, she would need me more than ever. Èowyn was strong, but she would need someone to lean on in this terrible time. I straightened my shoulders as I heard the door open behind me and I turned to face Èowyn.

“Let's get you dressed or you will catch your death of cold,” I said quickly.

She looked at me questioningly but nodded in agreement all the same. She looked too weary to try to argue with me. I dressed her in a beautiful white dress with golden accents, one of her favorites.

“Is there a special occasion?” Èowyn asked with a hollow laugh.

I felt a tear leak out of my eye, but before I could wipe it away, she turned to look at me. Her half smile faded as she saw my tears.

“Théodred…” I managed to get out before I dissolved into tears.

Her face drained of color and she ran from the room. I followed behind her quickly. She practically sprinted to Théodred's room, and hurried inside, collapsing into sobs by his bedside. I stood vigil outside of the door, letting her grieve in peace. There would come a time for me to feel his loss and say goodbye, but this was not the moment. I needed to be strong for her. Then I felt a presence by my side. I looked and practically leaped the length of the hall. Gríma had slid up from the shadows and was standing in the doorway. But he didn't seem to notice me; he was looking at Èowyn inside Théodred's room.

“Oh, he must have died sometime in the night. What a tragedy for the king…to lose his only son and heir,” Gríma said, his voice full of fake sincerity.

I almost went into the room, but I saw a few of Gríma’s guards at the end of the hall, looking at me. I could see the swords on their hips as they tried to casually linger, and their eyes were trained on me. I froze in place, trying to remain calm. It was like staring down a wolf; only when you turned to run would they attack. So long as I stared back and made it clear that I knew they were watching me, they could not gain the advantage. 

“I understand. His passing is hard to accept. Especially now that your brother has deserted you,” I heard Gríma go on after Èowyn didn't respond.

I felt my face flush in anger. Gríma was the one who had him banished. He would have stayed by her side until his dying breath if he could have. 

“Leave me alone, snake,” she shouted at him.

I could hear her feet on the stones, so she must have moved away from him. I did not even chance to move my gaze from the guards. Another came from the main hall and whispered something to the pair. To my relief, all three turned and moved off out into the Great Hall. With the threat gone, I turned my attention back to Èowyn. 

“Oh, but you are alone. Who knows what you've spoken to the darkness...in the bitter watches of the night...when all your life seems to shrink. The walls of your bower closing in about you. A hutch to trammel some wild thing in,” Gríma went on.

I felt myself freezing, an unnatural cold sweeping down my spine. I put my hands to my ears, trying to block out his words. I could not listen to him, would not listen. And then it dawned upon me: this was how he destroyed the king. I wanted to turn and pull Èowyn away, to get her as far away as I could so she could not be pulled under. But my feet would not move. But then suddenly, Èowyn rushed past me. I was about to run after her, but someone grabbed my wrist. I turned back and found that Gríma was standing very close to me.

“I should have suspected that you would not be far,” Gríma said with venom in his voice.

My gaze hardened, and I tried to pull away, but his grip remained firm. “I have done nothing,” I spat back. 

“Despite what others may believe, you have no mind for deception. Do not think I have not seen what trouble you stir,” Gríma hissed, his grip tightening over my wrist. His hands were cold, like a corpse was holding me and not a man. 

I jerked my chin up, not speaking to deny it. Even with my stature, my head rose above his when I pulled myself to my full height. I glared coldly into his mismatched eyes. 

“Release me, or I will be sure to speak with the king’s guard. I have no doubt that they will be most intrigued to hear of how you put your hands on a woman without her consent,” I commanded, not raising my voice but each word was carefully articulated with as much controlled anger as I could muster. 

But to my surprise, instead of releasing me, he jerked my arm, pulling me off of my balance. I stumbled, narrowly avoiding falling into him. We were almost nose to nose, and I could smell his stale breath as it hit my face. Even that felt cold. His face was shadowed with true anger, his mouth twisted in a sneer.

“If you speak one word to anyone, you will find yourself back in the Wilds, but this time, without your tongue,” he growled lowly.

“And how will Èowyn feel about you then? She knows who truly banished Èomer, and who sent Théodred into that ambush. Send me away, and she will run her sword through your traitorous heart, if I do not find you first,” I said with a snarl. 

I grabbed the thumb of the hand around my wrist and yanked back on it with as much force as I could muster. Gríma yelped in pain, releasing me at last. I took a step back, my wrist pulsing slightly as blood rushed back into the area. I could see murder in his eyes, and as my gaze flickered to his hands, I saw one of them drifting toward a dagger on his hip. 

“Spill my blood in Meduseld, and there will be no safe haven for you in all of Middle-Earth,” I challenged, my chin jerking up again.

Gríma’s hand stilled, and he looked ready to respond. But then, we heard footsteps approaching us. I turned and saw one of Gríma’s men striding purposefully down the corridor. I took the opportunity to slip around Gríma and down the hall. I walked slower than I wanted to so I could catch their conversation.

“There are travelers here. Gandalf Greyhame is one of them,” the guard said.

“Make sure to take their weapons. Especially the staff,” Gríma said to the man.

Thankfully, this news seemed to take Gríma’s mind from whatever he had been planning to say to me. The two rushed into the main hall, and I hurried my pace in my search for Èowyn. I took the back corridors to avoid going through the main hall and I found her coming out of her room.

“There are travelers here. Go to meet them,” I said softly.

Then suddenly we heard a commotion coming from the main hall. We moved swiftly down the corridor, and upon entering the Great Hall, found that the travelers were in a fist fight with Gríma's guards. I pulled Èowyn back behind me as much as I could, my eyes darting around the room. I saw Hama go to draw his blade to join the fray, but Gamling stopped him. I looked to the travelers, my brow wrinkling as I noticed what odd companions they were. One was a Man, dressed in dark leathers that were well worn and coated in mud. The second was fair, with light hair and he moved with a fluidity that I had never seen in any Man. The third was, unmistakably, a Dwarf with his stout stature, his long beard, his boisterous shouts as he fought off Gríma’s men. 

“Théoden…son of Thengel…too long have you sat in the shadows,” an old man in a grey cloak said loudly over all of the noise.

The old man, who I could only assume was Gandalf, walked slowly through the chaos. His arms were stretched out toward the king, and he held out a white staff before him. I looked to Théoden and saw that the king was slumping over in his throne, not looking to Gandalf.

“Harken to me!” Gandalf snapped as he reached the base of the steps leading to the throne.

Théoden jumped and turned to look at the old man. The sounds of fighting seemed to die away as everyone stopped to see what would happen next.

“I release you from this spell,” the old man said, raising his hand.

Théoden started laughing a laugh that sent chills through my bones. It was a raspy, rattling cackle, devoid of any humor or joy. It was a mocking laugh and almost seemed to come from somewhere beyond the king, even as the sound clawed its way from Théoden’s throat. 

“You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey,” Théoden taunted, still cackling.

Gandalf stood up straight and cast off his grey cloak with a flourish. A wind seemed to sweep through the hall as he revealed the bright white robes beneath. But it felt warm, and my spine tingled. His robes seemed to glow with an inner light, throwing beams into every darkened corner of the hall. I flinched at the sudden brightness, holding a hand up to shield my eyes. A moan escaped the king’s throat, and he was being pushed against the back of his throne by unseen hands. He seemed to pull himself forward for a moment, looking around, dazed.

“I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound,” Gandalf said, thrusting his white staff toward Théoden.

The king was thrown back against his throne again. Èowyn then found her feet and ran out from behind me to help her uncle. I was right behind her, but one of the travelers, the man with dark hair and dark clothes, stopped her and told her to wait. I stopped a few paces behind her, my worried gaze on Théoden. 

“If I go, Théoden dies,” the king said, struggling against the power that was forcing him back.

My brow furrowed in confusion. The voice that passed the king’s lips did not belong to Théoden. It was dark, each word a hiss and bite, as if from a snake. 

“You did not kill me…you will not kill him,” Gandalf said forcefully.

Gandalf was slowly making his way up the short set of stairs with his staff thrust forward.

“Rohan is mine,” Théoden growled.

Then suddenly, Théoden sprang from his seat with a snarl, like some sort of feral animal. Gandalf thrust his staff forward again, and another wind swept through the hall, pushing Théoden back down. The king sat stunned for a moment before he let out a weary moan and started to fall forward. Èowyn broke free from her captor’s grasp and ran to her uncle, dropping to her knees before him. I took a few steps forward to follow but stopped short as the man’s gaze fell upon me. He looked at me curiously for a long moment, and it took great effort to pull my eyes away as I heard Gandalf speak again.

“Breathe the free air again, my friend,” he was saying.

I looked back to the king and let out a quiet gasp. All traces of his rapid aging were gone; his hair was golden, his eyes were clear, and he seemed to sit taller than he had before. He looked around the room, almost as if he were seeing it for the first time. I felt happy tears welling in my eyes as I watched the king stand. Èowyn was at his side helping him, but he was growing stronger with every passing moment.

“Dark have been my dreams of late,” Théoden said, looking out into the hall.

He held up his hand, opening and closing his fist, stretching the barely used limb. He looked like a man who had been asleep, fighting off a terrible fever, and he was trying to remember how to move after being so long a bed.

“Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword,” Gandalf said softly.

Hama brought forward the sword, as if he had been waiting for the command, and held it before the king. Théoden drew it slowly, and Èowyn smiled brightly. I could not help my own smile as I saw the tears of joy in her eyes. It was nice to see an easy smile on her face again. Théoden looked at his sword, and then a dark look came across his features. He looked over to the dwarf, and I saw that Gríma was being held down by said dwarf's foot. Théoden nodded to his guards and they picked the man up and dragged him bodily from the room. Théoden followed at a quick walk, and the rest of those in the hall fell in behind him. I moved to Èowyn’s side and found that I was being accompanied by the dwarf and the fair-haired traveler. 

When the guards reached the first stair, in unison they threw him bodily down the steps. His cries of pain filled me with a strange, heady sense of satisfaction. I moved to stand on the ledge with Èowyn, looking down over the scene. Gríma crawled back down the steps, and Théoden stalked after him, his sword held in a tight grip at his side.

“I only ever…served you, my lord,” the worm pleaded as he crawled down the stairs away from Théoden.

“Your leechcraft…would have me crawling on all fours like a beast,” Théoden said, angrier than I had ever seen him before in my time at the Golden Hall.

At the sound of the commotion, residents of homes near Meduseld were emerging to witness the king’s retribution. As it was noticed that the king had returned to his former appearance, they began to whisper. A wind picked up the end of Théoden’s robe, tossing it, snapping it angrily.

“Send me not from your sight,” Gríma begged desperately, one hand held out for mercy.

Even at this distance, I could see Gríma’s eyes darting around, trying to find an escape. But the citizens of Edoras had gathered around the edges of the small square at the foot of Meduseld’s steps. Théoden raised his sword above his head, ready to bring it down on the traitor and coward at his feet. My shoulders fell back, and my spine straightened, righteous satisfaction sweeping through my heart. I had often wished to rid Rohan of Gríma, had thought about how I could get him alone, so no one could witness my blade sinking into his back. But my anger paled in comparison to the king’s. He was the only one who deserved to rid Middle-Earth of this vermin. But then the man that had traveled to Edoras with Gandalf rushed forward and stopped Théoden.

“No, my lord!” he said loudly.

The man said some words that I couldn't quite hear, but Théoden lowered his sword. The stranger tried to reach down and offer Gríma help off of the ground, but Gríma only spat into his palm. The man backed away and Gríma pushed himself off the ground and fled through the crowd. They parted, not wishing to touch such a vile creature.

“Hail Théoden King!” one of the king's men cried.

The crowd that had gathered quickly fell to one knee, and the motion traveled up the steps to where Èowyn and I stood. We merely bowed our heads in respect. Théoden was looking around the crowd, his eyes searching for a missing face. My heart clenched as I remembered who indeed was missing.

“Théodred? Where is my son?” the king questioned.


	12. Chapter 12

Théoden looked up to Èowyn and she held out her hand, beckoning him to her. He took the stairs two at a time to reach her faster. Guards came forward and scattered the gathered crowd. I looked out over Edoras and saw a black horse bearing a rider in black out of the city and out to the plains. A weight was lifted from my heart as Gríma fled. We were safe, at least for now.

“I am going to attend my uncle. Please see to our guests,” Èowyn muttered hastily in my ear.

She took Théoden’s hand and the two rushed inside. My mouth went a little dry at the thought of taking up Èowyn’s role, even for a short while. I took a deep breath and turned to see that the dwarf and his fair-haired companion were looking at me expectantly.

“As unusual as this may be, welcome to Edoras, my lords,” I said with a curtsy, breaking the tense silence between us.

“A most unusual greeting indeed,” The dwarf muttered and I could not help but chuckle.

“I would normally allow the lady of the house to escort you in and find you lodging but…” I said, trailing off as I looked to where the doors to the Golden Hall were still wide open.

“The hospitality of the Horse-Lords is always gratefully accepted, no matter who extends it,” the fair-haired traveler said, putting a hand to his chest and bowing. 

His hair shifted as he moved, and I saw that his ears were pointed at their tips. I could not stop my raised eyebrows and a small smile. I had never met an Elf before. He saw the delighted surprise in my eyes and gave me a wry smile, followed by an intense look that seemed to look through me rather than at me. Heat came to my cheeks and I looked away. Thankfully, Gandalf and the dark-haired man had made their way up the stairs, joining us.

“If you would follow me,” I said softly, curtsying before turning on my heel to lead them into Meduseld. 

As we passed, the door guards returned weapons to their owners with serious expressions. I led the party to a spacious room off the main hall. I opened the large heavy door carved with horse motifs, showing them the space. There were cots pushed against the walls and a chest of furs and blankets for use by guests of the Golden Hall.

“This is where we will give you lodgings. Others will be coming shortly to lead you to the bathhouses if you wish to wash away the worries of your travels. You are guests at Meduseld, so you will want for nothing. Now I must depart and see to my lady. Supper will be served in an hour,” I said, giving the men another curtsy.

“Please pass along our thanks,” the darker man said.

“I will, my lord…” I said, trailing off in a question so I may learn his name.

“Oh yes. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm,” Aragorn said, motioning to his two companions.

I looked at Aragorn for a moment, and his name stirred something in my mind. I had heard his name somewhere, but I could not place it. It was as if I were trying to recall a dream.

“And what is your name, my lady?” the dwarf, Gimli, asked when I said nothing.

“Braedia, daughter of Deonvan, master dwarf,” I said, startled into speech from my thoughts.

“Braedia?” Legolas asked curiously.

I looked at him, and he was looking at me intently again as if he was not sure if he believed me. I looked away from him but found that Aragorn was also giving me a strange look, but his eyes held a sadness I did not quite understand. I gave another quick curtsey and tried not to run as I left.

As I crossed the main hall, I shook my head to try to clear my thoughts. Others were moving tables away from the wall, preparing for the evening meal to be served. I could not shake Aragorn’s sad eyes from my mind. But as I thought about it, it was not sadness I had seen, but pity. But what reason could he have to pity me? 

I walked to Théodred's chambers and found that Èowyn was standing outside the closed door. I could faintly hear Théoden sobbing on the other side. Èowyn had tears of her own streaming down her face.

“The funeral is set for tomorrow,” she said, her voice hoarse.

I nodded somberly. “I escorted the travelers to the guest hall and helped them settle in,” I said softly.

“Thank you,” she whispered, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I half smiled at her and took her hand from my shoulder and looped it around my arm.

“There is little you can do for the king now. Come and prepare to greet your guests for the evening meal,” I said with an encouraging smile.

She nodded as I led her down the halls to her room. She quickly rinsed her face and arms with cool water, and I could tell that it did a little bit of good. Her eyes were less red, and the tear tracks were gone from her cheeks. I sat her down and set about brushing the tangles in her long hair caused by the wind.

“What are the names of our guests?” Èowyn deadpanned.

“The wizard is Gandalf, once Grey but now the White. He travels with a man, Aragorn son of Arathorn; an elf, Legolas of the Woodland Realm; and a dwarf, Gimli son of Gloin,” I explained for her.

I gently twisted two locks of hair back away from her face and secured them with a pin to the back of her head.

“They look weary,” I said in passing.

“They look at you strangely. It is as if they have seen your face in a dream,” Èowyn said, almost ignoring my statement.

I did not ask how she could have noticed. “That they do. It must be because I do not have the look of the Rohirrim,” I said softly, trying to brush away my worries. 

I smoothed her hair and had her stand up. “Perhaps. Discuss it with them after supper. I wish to go to my uncle. Go and prepare yourself for the meal. You have not looked this wild in some time,” Èowyn said touching my curly locks gently.

She smiled and then swept past me. I looked into Èowyn's looking glass and found that she was right. My hair had become unruly from the wind and I, too, had eyes rimmed in red. I was wearing one of my simple brown riding dresses, and I realized that I had not changed since the day Théodred had been brought to Edoras, and Èomer had been banished.

Once back in my room, I slipped off the dress and changed into one of my slightly more elaborate dresses. It was a dark green linen with a little gold embroidery around the cuffs of the large sleeves and the collar that laid against my neck. I took a brush to my hair, and by the time I had tamed the curls into perfect ringlets, supper was ready to be served. 

I went to the Great Hall and saw that the travelers had found their way to the table. The head of the table was empty, as was Èowyn's seat. I went to the end of the table and sat in the empty seat beside Legolas and across from Gimli. Aragorn sat on the elf's other side and Gandalf sat between Èowyn's empty place and Gimli. Èowyn then came from the hall leading to Théodred's chambers and her face was drawn. 

“My uncle will not be joining us this meal,” she said as she sat in her seat.

She waved, and the servants moved to serve the food. Introductions were made as the food was laid out. I watched the travelers, but my gaze kept coming back to Legolas. He ate gracefully, just as he moved gracefully and spoke gracefully. Aragorn had a similar decorum, but there was something fluid in the way that Legolas moved, like water in a mountain stream. The dwarf ate greedily, and I could not help but smile. It must have been some time since their last hot meal.

“So what brings you to Edoras? Surely you must not have joined company just to free my uncle?” Èowyn asked as the second course arrived.

Legolas looked at Aragorn sharply and Aragorn looked at Gandalf. The wizard seemed to consider something for a moment before nodding.

“No, my lady. We did not join company only to heal Théoden King. Our company formed in Rivendell, and had set out with another purpose,” Aragorn explained. He always spoke with an even, measured tone, his voice sometimes barely above a whisper. It was as if he feared to be overheard. 

I looked up from my plate suddenly; Faramir often spoke of the Elven haven in the mountains of the north. My mouth opened of its own accord, but I snapped it shut before any of my questions could come pouring out. 

Èowyn waited for a moment, expecting Aragorn to go on. But his face turned pensive as he took another bite from his plate. 

“Were you the only members of your company?” I asked, hoping my curiosity was hidden behind my casual tone.

Legolas shook his head but did not speak. His face was also dark and thoughtful.

“How many were in your party, and are we to be expecting all of them?” Èowyn tried to joke. 

“Nine of us set out from Rivendell, and you should not be expecting any more, at least for now. Two of our company set out on their own road toward our original destination. One fell in a great battle. We three,” Aragorn motioned to the elf and the dwarf, “set out after two of our companions that had been taken captive. But they have found their way into safe hands. That was when we reunited with Gandalf and made our way here,” he continued.

Èowyn nodded and returned to her food. I looked at the travelers and their faces were shadowed with sorrow. I wanted to know more, but it was not my place to ask. Legolas seemed to sense my gaze and turned to look at me. His gaze was intense, and he wore a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I blushed a little and turned my face back to my food. 

We finished the meal in silence and shortly after it was finished, Èowyn took her leave to be with her uncle and plan the funeral. I moved to sit with the travelers for a short while. Gandalf retired to the guest chamber, closing the door behind him. Other residents of Meduseld came and went, eating the last of the food on the communal table. But soon enough, the tables were cleared away. I could feel my weariness settling over me. It would be good to sleep tonight. I toyed with a stray thread on my sleeve cuff.

“Would it be too bold of me to assume you do not hail from Rohan?” Aragorn asked, breaking the silence at last.

I looked up and found that he was looking at me. “It would not be too bold, my lord. I was born in The White City of Gondor, Minas Tirith,” I answered.

“How does one of Minas Tirith come to take up residence in the Golden Hall of Meduseld?” Aragorn asked, his tone curious but somehow heavy.

I sighed. “I would have been content enough to dwell in the halls of the House of the Steward until my dying day. But I was banished some time ago. Théoden King and his family have taken me in, and I serve the lady Èowyn,” I said quickly.

His questions were innocent enough, but something was ill at ease in my mind. Aragorn and Legolas looked at each other. Then Aragorn turned back to me.

“You say that you lived in the House of the Steward? Were you a noble?” Aragorn asked, and I could hear the tension in his feigned innocence.

“No, nothing of the sort, my lord. I was a chambermaid in the Steward's household,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed. I looked back down to my sleeve. I had pulled several stitches loose.

“Then you were acquainted with the Steward's family,” Aragorn stated.

I sighed, growing impatient with his questioning. “If I may be so bold, my lord, but what concern of yours is the life of a servant?” I said a little heatedly.

Aragorn sighed and shook his head, looking down. Legolas stepped up to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. My anger drained away as I saw the sadness in the elf’s eyes.

“We only ask, because a companion of ours often spoke of a woman from Gondor. A woman who served in his household but had been sent away. A woman whom he loved very dearly,” Legolas said delicately.

My heart began to beat wildly in my chest. I held my breath, not trusting to words. Legolas looked to Aragorn again, who nodded. Legolas’s gaze turned back to me. I was clutching at the edge of my sleeve, and I could feel my fingernails pressing into my palms through the fabric.

“We traveled with a man of Gondor: Boromir, son of Denethor,” Legolas went on.

My heart could have burst with the joy that overflowed it from his words. I stood and paced around slightly, taking a few steps and then turning back. I did not know where my feet wanted to take me, but my heart was too full to make sense of it. Boromir had remembered me and continued to love me despite these long years apart. I felt happy tears starting to form in my eyes. I turned back to Legolas and Aragorn, countless questions coming to my lips. But the words died, and my smile fell slightly as I saw the dark expressions they wore. 

“Traveled, you say? Did he go his own way? Was he called back to Minas Tirith?” I asked, my words tumbling from me.

Aragorn shook his head, and my heart started to pound for an entirely different reason. Aragorn moved to me and took my hands in his, looking down at me. He held my hands in a tight grip, and I could see something swimming in the depths of his smoke-grey eyes.

“He spoke often of you and wished you to know that he never intended for anything to happen to you. He wanted me to tell you, if we were to ever meet, that you were…Boromir wished you to know how much he loved you, even to the last,” Aragorn said in a voice almost above a whisper.

“No. He is not…please, he cannot be…” I stuttered, feeling something starting to wrap itself around my heart. I tried to pull my hands away, but Aragorn held firm.

“He fought courageously but could not survive his wounds. One arrow would have slain a lesser man. Boromir took three,” Aragorn said, his voice breaking.

I felt my heart pounding in my ears and images that I had long since pushed aside came to my mind again. Boromir, kneeling in a forest, arrows in his chest. I cried out, a wordless wail. I felt my heart pounding painfully in my chest. I willed it to stop, for how could I continue in a world where Boromir no longer lived. I pulled my hands from Aragorn’s grip at last. I looked around Meduseld, seeing the pitying faces of Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, other servants. I turned before Aragorn could take hold of me again. 

I ran straight out of the main doors and down the steps. I let my feet guide me, and soon the smell of sweet hay and horses filled my nose. Even with tears clouding my eyes, I found Narmírë’s stall with ease. She looked up as I threw the stall door aside, and did not move as I buried my face in her neck. I could not remove the images of Boromir that I had dreamed. The look of resigned defeat on his face as he stared at the massive Orc above him. The blood running slowly over his blue leather doublet. This was the clearest I had been able to see him in my mind’s eye in years, and all I could picture were his final moments.

Narmírë for her part did not seem bothered by my tears. She stood still as I clutched at her, her warmth spreading through me like an embrace. The steady beat of her heart worked on my emotions like a tonic, and soon my tears faded. But in their place, I felt a crushing loneliness. I had pushed Èomer away needlessly, pining for a lover who I knew had been lost to me long before he was cut down in the field. I had given up a chance for something real because, like a child clinging to a threadbare swaddling blanket, I did not want to give up my past.

Narmírë shifted next to me, tossing her mane and snorting. She took a step toward the entrance of the stall. I turned to see what had caught her attention and was surprised to see Legolas. He was standing with his hands behind his back, watching me impassively. 

“Aragorn wished to follow after you, but Gimli warned him that you may not take well to his presence at the present,” Legolas said, his tone soft but formal.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Master Gimli has a good judge of character.” 

Legolas smirked. “He does, for a Dwarf,” he said with a fond chuckle. 

I looked away from Legolas and absently stroked Narmírë’s neck, just to have something to do with my hands. 

“Boromir was as brave a Man as I have ever known. He died valiantly,” Legolas said into the silence. 

I nodded in agreement. “Did he say anything else?” I asked in a whisper. 

“When we traveled, he expressed once that he hoped that you would remember him fondly and would not hate him for driving you from your home,” Legolas spoke fondly, his voice distant with memory. He moved a little closer and stroked Narmírë’s nose lightly. 

I nodded and I wiped the stray tears away from my face. I could never hate Boromir, not so long as I lived. He was my first great love, just like in the tales of old. I would be forever grateful for his role in my life. 

“And he hoped you would not close your heart to love,” Legolas whispered, so low I almost did not hear him. 

I looked up to him sharply. He was looking at me with a sad smile. He made no move toward me; in fact, he even moved away from me and back out of the stall. I moved a little closer to Narmírë, and she shifted, sensing my tension. 

“Boromir spoke of your great capacity for love. How you loved those dear to you, your family and your friends, with fierce loyalty. He did not want you to lose that, to lock your heart away because the world had been cruel to you,” he went on. 

“Surely he did not. He was never one to speak in such romantic words,” I scoffed, looking away again. 

“He did not say those words exactly, no. But he told stories of your determination to learn swordplay, of your unwavering loyalty to his father, despite his low opinion of you. How you would always help a friend, even at great cost to yourself. He did express that he hoped you had found, what were his exact words…’a little village, a warm hearth, and a husband who realized how lucky he was to be loved by a creature as perfect as Braedia’,” Legolas explained, laughing a little. 

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of Boromir sitting around a campfire, speaking of home. At the thought of Denethor, I grew sad again. My thoughts turned to the Steward and Faramir. Both men held Boromir in such high regard; his passing would cut them deeply. 

“Does his family know?” I asked.

“We had no time to bury his body properly, so we laid him in a boat and sent the boat over the falls on the Anduin,” Legolas said heavily.

I nodded, relieved in the knowledge that they gave him some sort of funeral, if not the one he deserved, but the best they could manage. Anduin flowed through Gondor, so Boromir would return to the land of his fathers in time. I pet Narmírë’s neck one more time before leaving the stall, closing the door behind me.

“It is growing late, my lord. I must return to my lady,” I said heavily. 

Legolas nodded and walked by my side as we returned to the Golden Hall. I expected to feel awkward at his side, but the silence was comfortable. Legolas looked around as we walked, his eyes curiously admiring the city. He had a bemused little smile, which grew sincere as he caught me looking at him. 

The main hall was empty when we entered, Gimli and Aragorn having left to sleep. Legolas gave me another bow with his hand on his chest when I curtsied. I wanted to tell him that I did not deserve any sort of formal address, but he walked away before I could. I watched him leave, entranced by his movements. I did not know if all Elves were like Legolas, but he was far different than any man I had ever known. 

Once Legolas had disappeared behind the door to the guest chamber, I turned and went to Èowyn's chambers. I knocked softly, but there was no response. When I opened the door, I found Èowyn asleep in a chair by the fire, a book at her feet. I smiled softly and left the room. I was not strong enough to move her without waking her, and I did not have the heart to shake her awake. I turned and found that Théoden was standing behind me. I gasped and went into a hurried curtsy. Théoden bid me stand and he looked at me for a while.

“I would have thought you would have left long ago. There is nothing holding you here,” Théoden said, almost to himself.

I was not sure what exactly he was asking, so I stayed silent as I waited for him to speak again.

“Why did you stay?” Théoden asked after a moment of silence.

“I stayed because…if I may speak plainly,” I paused, and Théoden gave me a nod to continue. “I stayed because Lady Èowyn needed me, more than I think she will ever admit. And Edoras has become my home, and your family has become my family,” I finished with a heavy sigh and a glance back at Èowyn’s closed door.

“You have been loyal to us, and I shall not forget that lightly, Braedia. Èowyn spoke of what you have done in my…absence. My family and Rohan owe you a debt of gratitude for your actions,” Théoden said with a kind smile. He took me by the back of the head and bestowed a kiss onto my forehead.

“I ask for no boon, my lord. I did what had to be done, and it was no great deed,” I murmured, blushing and looking at the floor.

“But you shall have one, all the same. I have come to ask you to stand by Èowyn's side tomorrow at the burial,” Théoden said strongly.

My eyes widened as I looked back up at him. Èowyn had explained Rohirric burial rites to me while we waited on news of Théodred. It was the tradition for the men closest to the deceased to bear the body to the burial site, although in this case, his soldiers would bear him. His father would lead the procession down to the grave and then the women closest to the deceased would take the body from the men and place it in the grave. In the case of the royals, his nurse, his close friends and family would be there. I had expected to be near the grave, but never to help bury him.

“It would be an honor, my lord. But I cannot accept it. There must be another that could be in my place. Someone who was closer to Lord Théodred,” I said softly.

“No, there is no other. Èowyn and I agree that it is only right,” Théoden said, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Then I will be there, my lord,” I said, consenting with a sigh.

“Thank you, Braedia,” Théoden said, giving my shoulder a slight squeeze before departing.

I sighed and went back to my chambers. I changed out of my dress and slipped into my bed. I wept myself to sleep that night. I wept for the loss of Théodred. I wept for the loss of my beloved Boromir. But I also found myself weeping at the loss of Èomer, for it felt as if I had lost him as well.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in getting this chapter out. I don't know why, but editing this chapter was harder than normal. But I hope that you'll enjoy it all the same.

I woke the next morning feeling somehow more drained than I had when I had fallen asleep. I went to my basin and tried to wash the lingering tears from my cheeks. It was quiet, and I realized that I had woken quite early. I gathered a simple shift and went to the bathhouses. The room was warm and steamy, and it felt good to take this moment for myself. After I had washed, I braided my hair while it was still wet and easier to manage. The action felt soothing like I was centering myself to be able to stand the waves of grief that would pour from Edoras. 

As I went back to my room, I could hear early risers starting to stir. I could hear noises from the kitchen echoing down the halls as the staff began to prepare for the small morning meal. There would be a larger meal at midday, after the burial. As I tried to dress for the service, I found a navy-blue linen dress, one of my riding dresses. It was the only thing I had that felt appropriate; everything else was too extravagant or brightly colored for a burial. But no sooner than I had finished dressing Èowyn’s bell was ringing. I tugged the string twice to show that I was on my way and hurried from the room.

When I arrived in Èowyn’s chambers, she was dressed in a simple shift with her light blue robe. Her pale face seemed gaunt, and I could imagine that she had gotten even less sleep than I had. She had already pulled out a navy velvet dress with gold embroidery, which had been draped over the back of a chair. I went to gather her dress and begin to get her ready, but as she saw me fully, I heard her give a low, disapproving hum. I turned back to her with a confused wrinkle to my brow.

“You cannot wear a riding dress,” Èowyn said with a frown.

“I did not have anything else that befit the occasion,” I muttered, my face flushing. 

Èowyn did not answer; instead, she moved to her wardrobe and shifted through the silk and velvet for a few moments. She pulled a black gown from the back and held it out to me, her mouth set. Her eyes would suffer no arguments today. I set aside the dress she held out for me. 

“Let us get you settled and then I will change,” I said, speaking softly.

Èowyn didn’t argue with me, allowing me to help her into the dress. After, I sat her down by the fire. I braided her hair and twisted it so the whole piece sat just above the nape of her neck. She handed me a golden circlet that I placed into her hair. She stood and turned back to me with an expectant look. I moved behind her dressing screen and changed. The velvet was heavy, and I was surprised to find that the length of the hem and sleeves were not too long, as it usually was when Èowyn gifted me a dress from her closet. I moved to do the laces but found that Èowyn’s nimble fingers were already at the strings. When I turned to look at her, she had a small approving smile. 

"It is a little broad in the shoulder, but that cannot be helped," she said, looking me over and adjusting the dress a little.

“Thank you, my lady. I will return it to you after it has been cleaned,” I said blushing. 

Èowyn rolled her eyes. “You will do no such thing. And I think you've earned the right to call me by my given name, Braedia,” she said with a little scoff.

"My lady, please--" I began, feeling tears burning in the back of my eyes. I blinked several times trying to clear them. If I started crying now, I knew I would not be able to stop. 

Èowyn gave me a sharp look.

“Èowyn, I just…thank you. It is more than I deserve,” I continued, looking down. 

Èowyn pulled me into a sudden embrace, holding me tightly against her. I squeezed my eyes closed, letting one tear fall. 

“You deserve more than you know,” Èowyn whispered, so low I was not sure that she had intended for me to hear. 

I pulled away from her and wiped the tear from my face. She sighed, and her gaze went to the window. 

“It is early still. Will you stay with me until…” Èowyn asked, trailing off. 

I smiled warmly and nodded. We moved over to the chairs by the fire and sat in comfortable silence. We both were too far gone in our own thoughts for any meaningful conversation. I thought of Boromir, but there was a peace to his memory. For many months after my banishment, I had been haunted by feelings of regret, of things left unsaid, what I would do if I could see him again. But now, he was beyond me and I had to accept what had been. I could not go back, and from what Aragorn and Legolas had told me, Boromir would not want me to. 

I let myself remember Théodred, thinking of how kind he was. He was serious, never too keen on mischief like Èomer, but he had his own humor. He had a dry wit and was never one to mince words. He said what he felt, and cared deeply about his family and all of Rohan. He would have been a good king. 

It seemed as if no time had passed at all, but I was startled by a knock at Èowyn’s door. A chambermaid entered, and her somber expression told us it was time. Èowyn nodded to the girl and stood. I helped her to arrange a sheer black veil over her hair, and then wrap a heavy black mantle over her shoulders. She instantly sobered and we walked down to the plot where Théodred was to be laid to rest. 

I took my place near the burial mound beside Èowyn in the bright sunlight. I found myself growing more irritable as time passed. How could the sun shine on such a dark day? More people gathered, and they lined the path all the way from the Golden Hall down to the grave.

A hush fell over the crowd, sweeping down from the steps of Meduseld. I looked up the hill in anticipation. I looked back to Èowyn and found that she was staring straight ahead, clutching her veil in the rough winds that buffeted us. My mouth felt suddenly dry and I had to swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat. 

I looked up again and saw that Théodred's party had exited the wall of the city in a slow march and were making their way to the grave. Théodred was borne aloft by six guards from the Golden Hall. Théoden was behind him, and he was followed by Gandalf, who was followed by Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. When the guards reached the place where I stood in line with several other women, they lowered Théodred from their shoulders and passed the body. Èowyn took a step back from us and began to sing.

" _Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende on Meduselde þæt he ma no wære his dryhtne dyrest and mæga deorost. Bealo..._ " [An evil death has set forth the noble warrior A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels in Meduseld that he is no more, to his lord dearest and kinsmen most beloved. An evil death..]

Théodred was passed along the women as Èowyn’s song went on, and though I never bore the full weight of him by myself, I could feel his weight crushing my heart. I looked at his face, so cold and grey now but once shining with life; his hands that were clasped at his breast, and held a small bouquet of flowers, and remembered how they had once played with my hair quizzically. He looked so valiant in his armor, and I could feel the tears burning as I passed his litter along to the women by my side and into his final resting place.

After the body was interred, Théoden moved to stand in front of it. I lingered with Èowyn as many came forward to place their own small bouquets of flowers in front of the stone door that sealed the tomb. Soon all those who remained were only the royal family, myself, and the guests.

Then a thought struck me: not all of the royal family was here. Èomer had not been summoned back to Edoras. At the thought, my heart clenched, and I felt fresh tears sliding down my cheeks. I kept my tears silent, for now was not the time to weep for him. I felt a hand on my arm, and I turned from the grave. Legolas was standing behind me.

"We are departing for the hall," he said softly.

Though I had not seen the elf shed a tear, I saw his grief in his eyes. I nodded and he offered me his arm. I linked arms with him and I was surprised by how strong he felt, despite the looseness of the contact. We walked a few paces behind Aragorn, who was escorting Èowyn, and Gimli. Théoden had lingered at the grave and Gandalf stayed with him. The sun was shifting, casting a shadow over the cemetery.

"Death is a new experience for me," Legolas commented quietly when we were about halfway up the hill.

I looked at him curiously, but he was looking into some imagined distance before him. 

"I have lost many close friends within these last weeks, and I've come to realize what it means to die," Legolas continued.

I nodded, looking down at my feet as they grew heavy. I gave a little sigh, my shoulders falling. I was not an Elf, but I could understand losing friends suddenly. Gríma had ripped away many of the servants with whom I had grown close at Meduseld. With Èomer gone and Théodred dead, the only friend I had left in Rohan was Èowyn. 

"I apologize if my words bring you sorrow," Legolas said quickly, almost as an afterthought.

"No need, my lord. I have found that, at times of loss, speaking of your sorrows aids in grieving,” I said.

We had slowed our pace significantly and we were trailing behind. I was remembering speaking with my mother after the loss of my father, with Boromir and Faramir after the loss of my mother. I could not speak to Èowyn about what I felt in my heart; her burden was heavy enough.

“If you have sorrow in your heart, it would not trouble me to listen,” Legolas said after a long moment of silence. 

I looked up at him, ready to refuse his offer. It was not proper for a lady to speak so openly about such things. But the sincere gleam of concern in his eyes caught me off guard. We had reached the steps of Meduseld, and I looked at the hall, hesitating. Legolas, without breaking step, gently steered us around the base of the hill, along a footpath. Hardly anyone ever walked these paths, except for guards on their rounds. I could look up and see men at their posts. It was private, but not scandalously so. 

I spoke of my banishment from Gondor, my time in the Wilds, and my coming to Edoras. I spoke of my longing for Boromir, and my old life in Minas Tirith. I found myself speaking more deeply of my feelings than I had ever done with Èowyn. Legolas, to his credit, did not interrupt or judge as I spoke of the loss in my life. Legolas felt more like an old friend than a near-stranger and speaking to him was easy. I felt the sadness and grief, but it did not bear down on me like a lead blanket. 

We came back around the hill, and when we reached the steps, we began to climb up to the hall. As we reached the top, I turned back out to look over the plains. My eyes were searching the horizon, as they often did on days when Èomer was gone from Edoras. It was folly to think that he could know that his king was free; to my knowledge, no word had been sent. I did not even know if Èomer was still within Rohan’s borders. 

“What do you seek?” Legolas asked after a long moment. 

I sighed and shook my head. “It hardly matters,” I replied. 

“There are few things that hardly matter in this world, Braedia. Every rock, tree, and blade of grass has some part to play in the Music of Ainur,” Legolas said with a contented smile. 

I was unsure of what he meant but gave a noncommittal nod all the same. “Èomer should have been here today,” I said lowly. 

Legolas turned to me with a slight frown to his face. “He attends to business in the north, or so he stated two days past,” he sighed thoughtfully. 

My gaze snapped to him, my grip on his arm tightening. “You encountered him? When? Where?” I demanded. 

“As Aragorn, Gimli, and I pursued the Uruks from Amon Hen, we encountered Èomer and an _éored_ shortly after crossing the eastern border of Rohan. The men in his company have all been banished, according to Èomer, for their loyalty to Théoden King,” Legolas explained, his tone even. 

I gave a thoughtful nod and looked back over the plains. Banishment had become a common occurrence in Rohan once Gríma had Théoden thoroughly under his power. It had been the bold act of banishing the man second in line for the throne that had been shocking, not the act of banishment itself. It did give me slight comfort to know that Èomer was not traveling alone and that he had found purpose in his exile. 

“Did he make mention of any destination in the north?” I asked.

“Our meeting was brief. After ensuring that we were not spies of Saruman, he only provided mounts and directed us to the field where his company had destroyed our quarry. We did not think to ask more,” Legolas sighed. 

My face fell, and my heart became heavy again. Summoning Èomer and his men back to Edoras would be near impossible if no one knew where he had intended to ride. The Eastenmet was vast, with The Wold stretching north beyond that, bordered by Fangorn Forest. Many little villages were scattered across the plains, their farms vulnerable to attack. Would Èomer try to protect the villages that sat in the open, or would he try to gather more men from the nomadic herders? Would he patrol the border to prevent Orcs from Mordor from entering Rohan or Uruks from Isengard from leaving? I thought I would find peace in the news of Èomer, but now I only had more questions.

“I apologize if this news is unwelcome,” Legolas said, concern in his voice. 

I shook my head and looked back at him. “No need, my lord. It is good to know that he still lives, if nothing else,” I said with a forced smile. 

He returned my smile hesitantly, but then his brow furrowed as he looked out over my shoulder. I turned to see what had caught his attention. I saw Théoden and Gandalf still down at the burial ground, but I saw a shape cresting the hill beyond. I could not make out any details at this distance, but the movement suggested a lone rider. My brow furrowed as I squinted to make out more detail.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's a horse with two children on its back," Legolas said, barely squinting.

The shape stopped as the children caught sight of the city. They weren’t far off, but still some distance from the gate. I saw Théoden and Gandalf take notice now and began to move toward them. But then the shape changed as something fell from the horse’s back to the ground. 

"One of them just fell. They look exhausted," Legolas said, compassionately.

"Théoden King and Gandalf are gathering them. We should inform Lady Èowyn so food and care can be ready once they arrive,” I said seriously. 

Legolas nodded and I unlinked my arm from his. I turned on my heel, striding into the hall purposefully. I saw that most of the mourners had left, leaving only the residents of Meduseld and her guests. Gimli was working through a plate of food, as Aragorn and Èowyn were sitting nearby, talking quietly. Èowyn noticed my haste as I crossed to her, standing with a concerned wrinkle to her brow.

"There are two children out in the field. They appear to have ridden here over some distance with haste," Legolas said as we approached.

"Braedia, go to the kitchen and get some fresh food for them. I will prepare a room for them here," Èowyn said sternly.

I nodded and sped off toward the kitchen. I managed to get a small pot of stew and a few bowls before I heard some commotion in the main hall. I brought the soup out to one of the other tables in the main hall and motioned for the children, who had just entered with the king and Gandalf, to sit and eat. They sat gratefully before each bowl I served. Théoden moved to his throne and Gandalf sat in the seat beside him.

The children ate and Èowyn came out to talk to them. She knelt beside the little girl with her arms around her shoulders. She spoke in soft Rohirric to them, but so quickly that I could barely understand what they were saying. I recognized the words for “attack” and “Wildmen”, and the little girl asked repeatedly to know if her mother was in the city. I decided to make myself useful and went to get a blanket for them. I could see that they were shaking, whether from fear, cold or exhaustion, I could not determine.

I took one of the heavier wool blankets from a linen room and brought it back to Èowyn. She nodded thankfully and I moved to sit beside Aragorn at the table. He had begun to smoke a pipe and was watching the whole proceedings with grave interest. Legolas stood against one of the columns, and he nodded to me as I sat down, folding my hands in my lap. At length, Èowyn sighed and looked at the king.


End file.
